


a long way from the playground

by tesselated



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, jewish bucky, pre-serum steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesselated/pseuds/tesselated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Actually, I am dating someone.” He says.</p><p>What ends up happening is, he says the first name that comes to mind.</p><p>What ends up happening is, he blurts out, “Steve Rogers.” </p><p>Without thinking, obviously. Because if he had been thinking, he would have thought of something better than this.</p><p>And that's how Bucky ends up bringing Steve as a date to his sister's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a long way from the playground

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this fic was intended as a birthday gift in OCTOBER but turned into a fucking monster so happy birthsgiving, tori.
> 
> there is an accompanying [playlist](http://8tracks.com/quidditched/a-long-way-from-the-playground)~
> 
> title is from one direction's "18"
> 
> enjoy ?? !!

Bucky’s five when he meets Steve. He’s in the small playground tucked into their neighborhood and Steve is a too-skinny blonde boy nursing a skinned knee under the monkey bars. 

“Are you hurt?” Bucky asks, and Steve shakes his head, standing up with a visible wince. 

He watches the boy climb back up the ladder to the monkeybars again, a concentrated look on his face as he grips the first one.

He makes it halfway across before he falls again, hard onto the gravel underneath. There are pebbles stuck to the skinned part of his knee, and he grits his teeth as he brushes them off. 

He starts climbing back up again, glancing over at where Bucky is still standing and watching him.

“Why do you keep doing it?” Bucky asks him, and Steve pauses, one hand on a monkeybar but his feet still on the ladder. 

“I’m gonna keep doing it til I get across.” Steve says, determined. 

Bucky sits down on the ground, looking up at Steve and watching him as he tries again. He falls, but it’s three bars from the end, and Bucky cringes on his behalf.

“You almost made it!” He yells, and Steve grins up at him from where he’s splayed on the ground, the scrape on his knee looking worse every time he falls.

Steve falls two more times before he makes it across, and he grins like he doesn’t know exactly what to do when Bucky jumps up, excited.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.” He says.

“Steve.” The skinny blonde boy says. 

And that’s how it starts.

++ ++ ++

It’s eleven o’clock, it’s raining, and Bucky makes the decision to walk to Steve’s instead of to the subway stop that will take him home.

When Bucky buzzes up to Steve’s apartment, the first thing he hears is Sam say, “Man, don’t you have your own place?”

“No, Sam. I’m destitute.” Bucky says back, and Sam laughs on the other end before letting him in.

He does have his own place, but he just finished his shift at the fusion place he works three nights a week, and it’s only a few blocks away from Steve’s place. 

Which is how he ends up drinking Sam’s beer, sitting across from Steve at the kitchen table while he works on a project, brow furrowed behind his laptop.

“We’re all just a barrel of laughs tonight, huh?” Bucky asks, and Sam snorts at him from where he’s reading a textbook on the couch. Steve looks up at him over his computer screen, gives him a half grin.

“How was work?” Steve asks, pushing up his glasses absentmindedly as he continues clicking his mouse. Bucky can see a photoshop screen reflected in them, blue computer light masking Steve’s eyes.

“Busy as hell. What the fuck does fusion food even mean?” Bucky asks irritably, finishing Sam’s beer.

“You know what it means.” Steve says, but he looks amused.

“Unfortunately.” Bucky says. Steve rolls his eyes, his mouth still quirked into a grin.

“How’s your thing going?” Bucky asks, gesturing to the computer.

“Fine. Designing a logo for this company, I don’t know. I have to decide on fonts right now.” Steve says, shifting in his seat so that one of his legs is tucked under him.

“Sounds fun.” Bucky says. 

“It kind of is, actually.” Steve says back. 

“D’you mind if I crash here tonight?” Bucky asks, leaning back against Steve’s dining room chair and closing his eyes.

“When you come to my apartment out of the rain at eleven PM, I generally assume you’re gonna crash here, Bucky.” Steve says, and Bucky smiles, his eyes still closed.

“Why do you even pay rent for that shoebox in Brooklyn? Just move in here.” Sam says from the couch, and Bucky opens his eyes just to roll them.

“Don’t talk to me about shoeboxes, Wilson. Your room’s like a closet.” Bucky says, and Sam snorts at him again. 

“You know I was joking about that moving in thing. Total joke. Do not want you here.” Sam says.

“Shut up.” Bucky says, laughing.

“Both of you shut up.” Steve says. “Some of us are trying to work.”

“You wanna play that game, Steve? Some of us are trying to get Master’s degrees.” Sam says, and Steve rolls his eyes.

Bucky laughs, opening another one of Sam’s beers. Steve closes his computer in mock-frustration and Sam doesn’t get much reading done that night.

++

He tries not to make it a habit, crashing at Steve’s when he’s too tired from work to make the half-hour train ride home, but he does it enough that it’s a familiar routine. 

He can hear Steve brushing his teeth from the bathroom, the light spilling from the crack in the door onto the wood floor of the living room, visible from the dark of Steve’s room. 

He sleeps on the left side of the bed, the way he always has but doesn’t know why. An old ritual, the reasoning forgotten by now. 

Bucky runs his hands through his hair as he turns onto his back, watching Steve walk back into the room from the bathroom.

“What’re you looking at?” Steve asks him, smelling like toothpaste.

“Nothin’.” Bucky says, and Steve shrugs at him.

“Where you working tomorrow?” Steve asks him. 

“I have a morning shift at the coffee place in Williamsburg and then I’m doing midnight at that Chinese place by my apartment.” Bucky answers. He closes his eyes, feeling the mattress shift when Steve sits down, hears the click of plastic against wood that means he took off his glasses.

“Busy man.” Steve says, pulling the covers back to get underneath them. 

“Not as busy as you.” Bucky says, and Steve huffs a laugh.

“What can I say? I’m very important.” Steve says. He rolls over onto his stomach, his side close to Bucky’s. 

He always shares Steve's bed when they do this, because it got to a point over the years where it’d be weird if he didn’t. They’re too old for it, sharing beds like when they did in grade school, but they’re too old for a lot of things they both still do. 

Steve’s quiet for a minute and then he snickers. “You remember when we were boy scouts? And we were on that horrible camping trip, and we were freezing because -”

“We couldn’t build a fire to save our lives, yeah.” Bucky finishes.

“Yeah. So we zipped our sleeping bags together and had to huddle for goddamn warmth, like we were really gonna die in the wilderness, like this was really high stakes. And then in the morning that stupid kid from our fourth grade class called us gay.” Steve says, laughing.

“And you tried to punch him even though you were a foot shorter and a whole hell of a lot skinnier. Yeah, I remember.” Bucky says, smiling, his eyes still closed. “In fairness to that kid, though, he wasn’t too far off.”

“That’s coincidental. We were just a couple of separately queer kids trying not to die in the New York wilderness. There was nothing gay about that sleeping bag. That was survival, Bucky.” Steve says, sounding like he’s in the beginning of an only half-joking tirade.

“The wilderness? We were in Westchester.” Bucky says, laughing.

“Well, it _felt_ like the wilderness.” Steve says defensively.

“Go to sleep, idiot.” Bucky says, and Steve reaches over to punch Bucky’s arm weakly.

They see each other at least once a week, but sometimes he misses Steve, misses being close enough to live in each others’ pockets.

They hadn’t really lived together since they were nineteen, when they split the rent on an apartment in Brooklyn, a place that could only barely fit them with two bedrooms. But it’s still familiar, bickering absentmindedly in the almost-darkness of right before falling asleep, from across the room, from across the apartment, through the paper-thin walls.

He listens to Steve’s breathing, thinks about how it sounds healthy and not shallow and rattling like it still does sometimes, and falls asleep tracking the inhales and exhales.

++

He wakes up at 6 AM because his sleep patterns are wrecked from alternating graveyard shifts with morning shifts, and he stifles a groan when he rolls over and sees the time on Steve’s alarm clock. He tries to shuffle out of Steve’s room quietly, but he steps on a noisy floorboard, cringing as Steve rolls over in bed.

“Time is it?” Steve asks, eyes still shut.

“Six.” Bucky says, and Steve groans.

“Sorry.” Bucky says in response.

“S’okay. Have a good day.” Steve mutters blearily, rolling back over, and Bucky feels the corner of his mouth pull up. 

He pulls yesterday’s jeans back on, grimacing when he realizes how wrinkled his shirt is. He’s running his hands through his hair when he walks into the kitchen, where Sam is not only awake, but looks like he just got back from the gym.

“How do you look like a person? It’s six AM on a Tuesday.” Bucky grumbles, grabbing the orange juice from where Sam sat it on the counter.

“Cause unlike you, I got my shit together.” Sam says with a shit-eating grin.

“Fuck off.” He says, drinking from the bottle, making Sam cry out angrily. 

“That’s gross, man.” Sam says, sounding annoyed, and Bucky just smirks at him.

“You know the next time I walk into a place where you work, I’m not tipping you.” Sam says as Bucky shrugs on his jacket.

“You already don’t.” Bucky says, grinning and waving as he walks out of their door and heads to the nearest subway station.

++

Only in Williamsburg, Bucky thinks, would his coworkers’ dogs be welcome in a food service job.

He thinks about what people say, that pets look like their owners, as Clint’s mangy dog scratches behind its left ear, the side of his head with the missing eye. 

Not that Clint’s so beat up, and he’s a nice guy. It’s just that he just always gives off an air that he’s a bit of a disaster. 

Case in point, he’s currently spilling hot coffee on himself, the lid of the cup he was trying to put on flying out of his hand. 

“Aww, come on.” Clint mutters, his dog looking over interestedly as he wipes himself off with a napkin.

“Sorry, just a minute.” Bucky says to the customer looking unimpressed at the counter, managing a smile before going over behind Clint and making a new drink. 

It’s a slow morning, mostly regulars filtering in at the times Bucky’s come to expect them to. He likes working these jobs, bouncing between waitstaff and barista positions across the city. He likes knowing people through their deli orders, the way they like their coffee, their usual lunch. 

Bucky’s never been good at much, but sometimes he’s good at people, and he likes that.

Clint gets preoccupied when his friend Kate comes in, in the middle of Bucky’s shift like she always does, petting his dog and sitting leaned over the counter to talk to him. 

She’s cute, in a just-graduated-high school way. Everything about her looks so carefully coordinated, her expensive outfit, her sleek hair. Bucky wonders how she ended up good enough friends with a guy like Clint (whose shirt is on backwards _and_ inside out) that she’s here in this coffee shop, spending her time getting him through his shift. 

But he doesn’t wonder too hard, because he knows that in most of his friendships, he’s the Clint, the unlikely sidekick to an attractive young professional with their shit decidedly together. And maybe he’s a little bitter about it, but he’s a lot less bitter than he could be, and that’s good enough for him.

++

Bucky’s week is uneventful, and so are the few after that. In general, his life is pretty boring, and he’s okay with that. He likes boring sometimes. He’s had enough of the bad kind of excitement to know that boring is very often underrated.

Late October is when it starts to get less boring, after he comes back to his apartment to find that it has become the scene of a B&E. 

Or, maybe it’s not a B&E if the person has a key. Whatever. It’s at least a solid E.

He makes good tips on Wednesday night at the bar in SoHo, he sends Steve a picture of a puppy in a sweater that looks like him on Thursday, and he’s all set to quietly pass out as soon as he gets off work on Friday when he comes home to find Natasha sitting on his couch, an open pizza box and a bottle of the $6 wine she always used to buy sitting in front of her.

“Hey, stranger.” She says, her lips quirked into one of those half-smirks that she’s so good at giving.

He’s startled for a minute before he grins broadly and walks over to her, leaning over the back of his couch to hug her.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” He says, kissing her cheek. It’s an old ratty one, the lettering worn off and a hole near the collar, but Natasha could wear a garbage bag and still look great, so he shouldn’t be surprised that she pulls it off. 

“I forgot to pack pj’s.” She says, shrugging, still giving him that smirk. 

“How long you here?” He asks her, walking around the couch to sit down next to her and grab a slice of pizza. 

“Just the weekend. You mind if I stay? I should’ve called, but it was last minute.” She says. She shifts so her legs are across his lap, sipping her wine out of a coffee mug.

“Nah, you’re fine. You’re welcome whenever, that’s why I gave you a key.” He says through a mouthful of pizza, and she smiles at him.

After Steve moved out of their two-bedroom and went back to school, he lived with Natasha, at that time a friend of a friend who he’d never met but who was described to him as polite, punctual, a little intimidating, and really needing a place to stay.

All of the above turned out to be true, but she also turned out to be one of the funniest, most honest people Bucky knew, and they ended up living together for three years before she got a promotion that required constant travel. Natasha spends stray weekends in Dubai, weeks at a time in Moscow, and occasionally, she’ll show up at Bucky’s apartment because she’s in New York for a few days, always apologizing for not calling and buying him dinner in return.

“How’ve you been, Nat?” He asks her, pouring wine into the other mug that she thoughtfully put out for him. 

“Oh, good. I’ve mostly been in Spain the past month.” She says casually, and he laughs.

“Your life is so fucking weird.” He tells her and she digs her heel into his hip bone. 

“Because you’re just Mr. Normalcy.” Natasha says, her voice dry.

“Well, in relative terms, yes.” He says.

“How many different places are you currently employed?” She asks, eyebrow raised.

He pauses for a minute before answering, “Three.”

She holds her raised eyebrow, looking at him pointedly.

“Alright, fine, I’m not Mr. Normalcy. Your life is still much, much weirder, though.” He says, grinning, and she rolls her eyes, looking amused.

They watch a shitty horror movie that’s playing on public access and talk over it louder and louder as they make their way through the first bottle of wine. 

“You been seeing anyone?” Natasha asks him as she uncorks the second bottle.

“Nope. You?” He asks. 

It’s their usual script, their way to figure out if hooking up is on the table or not. 

“Not really.” She says, quirking her lips up.

More often than not, it’s on the table.

If Bucky could recommend one thing to anyone, he thinks to himself with Natasha on his lap, it’s to become acquainted with someone who is very good at casual sex friendships.

Being able to maintain this kind of thing was a skill he never realized he had until one night two years into living together Natasha flat-out asked him if he wanted to hook up, no strings attached. 

Natasha likes to pretend she’s mysterious, and it’s mostly bullshit, but the girl sure can surprise you sometimes.

It wasn’t ever a big deal, just something that happened every once in a while when they were both single and horny, and it worked out pretty well for both of them, Bucky thought. 

“Why don’t you just date her?” Steve had asked when he told him about the whole thing years ago, and Bucky couldn’t figure out how to explain that he had no interest in dating Natasha. She was just a good friend who was great in bed, and they were both happy with keeping it that way.

And they still are, he thinks while he kisses her, his hands on her waist underneath his ratty t-shirt that he realized a few minutes ago she wasn’t wearing a bra with.

“I missed you, Bucky.” She says to him later, ashing a slim cigarette in the ashtray he keeps on his nightstand for her. 

He watches the curve of her back when she sits up to tie her hair in a ponytail. “Missed you too. How’s the crazy secret job?” He asks her.

He’s not sure what her UN job actually entails (whenever he asks about it she talks in so many circles that he’s stopped trying to keep up; something in security is all he’s gotten), but he’s pretty sure she makes enough money to be staying somewhere worth his rent per night. He kind of likes that she still shows up in his shitty place in Brooklyn, sharing his bed instead of renting the suite he knows she can afford.

“Crazy secret job is good. Not that crazy, or a secret, but other than that.” She says, smirking at him again.

“You’re ruining the perfectly constructed image of you as a superspy that I have, Nat.” He says.

“But what’s a better cover for being a superspy than telling you how mundane my job is?” She asks, arching her eyebrows like a supervillain. 

“You got me there.” Bucky says.

“Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff.” Natasha says in some horrible attempt at a British accent.

“That’s awful, Nat. Get out of this bed. Get out of this apartment.” Bucky says through laughter, and Natasha looks proud of herself.

He hasn’t seen her in two months but he’s always marveled at her ability to pick back right where they left off, smirking and coming up with horrible puns across from him at the kitchen table. 

He wonders idly on Saturday afternoon when they’re daydrinking and people watching on Bucky’s balcony if staying with Bucky lets her be her most normal self, the part of her that maybe doesn’t get much use when she’s off being a badass security guard, or whatever.

But maybe he’s just projecting, he thinks with a grin as she laughs hard enough to snort beer out of her nose but manages to keep her makeup perfectly in place. Maybe Natasha’s better at balancing her life than Bucky probably ever will be. 

++

Bucky’s pretty sure that Steve only keeps in touch with some of his NYU friends to get invited to their Halloween parties.

And honestly, in Bucky’s opinion, it’s worth it.

Bucky came as a vampire mostly out of laziness and the realization that he owns too much black. Actually, the only thing that reads vampire is the half-assed bite mark he put on his neck with a red sharpie, the rest was kind of just an excuse to wear all the black clothes that are a little too tight on him hiding in the back of his closet.

“Are those from high school?” Steve asks him while they’re standing at the bar, gesturing to Bucky’s clothes and laughing over the loud bass pounding from a stereo. 

The music’s coming from the other end of the club that someone with too much money has rented out for the night for this Halloween party, packed with too many people in a relatively small amount of clothing. They got an invite through a guy Steve knows through someone else, a rich kid named Tony who’s dressed as...well, Bucky’s not completely sure, because he’s essentially only wearing underwear, but he’s sure he’s dressed as something.

He looks back at Steve, who’s put his too-big glasses to good use and come as Clark Kent, white button-down opened in front so that the big Superman S is visible.

“Fuck you.” Bucky says lightly in response, talking into his drink as he lifts it to his mouth.

“They totally are. Are they from Hot Topic?” Steve asks through loud laugher.

It’s two AM and there was an open bar. It’s been a good night.

“Shut the fuck up, Steve.” Bucky yells, pushing Steve lightly. 

“Remember when you _only shopped at Hot Topic_?” Steve yells even louder, eyes watering a little.

“You’re not the only one with stories, pal.” Bucky says, trying to sound threatening but mostly just sounding drunk.

“You don’t got shit, Barnes. I was a nerd in high school, I was a nerd in college, I’m still a goddamn nerd.” Steve says, gesturing to his costume with a wide smile.

Bucky’s always liked the fact that whenever Steve drinks, he gets a little rough around the edges, his mostly flat accent turning into something thicker, his well-educated vocabulary and grammar slipping just enough. He likes it, the way Steve laughs around his words, cheeks red from the heat.

“You’re such a fuckin’ liar. You always like to pretend you were this innocent geek in high school and it’s such a lie.” Bucky says, smiling back at Steve.

“It is _not_. I was in marching band, for christ’s sake.” Steve says.

“Yeah, I know. You always had to schedule your detentions around band practice.” Bucky says, smirking.

“I did not get that many detentions.” Steve says defensively.

“You picked more fights than anyone in the history of the universe, Steve.” Bucky says, laughing.

“I think that’s an exaggeration, Bucky.” Steve says loftily, his words only a little slurred.

“It’s not. From personal experience, it’s really not.” Bucky says,and Steve laughs again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the sexy firefighter that’s been trying to make eye contact with him all night hovering nearby. He’s cute, Bucky notices in kind a removed way, and he considers going over and flirting back, going home with him because it’d be fun in that easy way those kinds of things are. 

But then he looks back at Steve, still laughing quietly from a joke he made several minutes earlier, more drunk than Bucky’s seen him in a while, and he thinks maybe he likes this kind of fun more.

They stay for another two hours and end up just on the right side of the line between fun drunk and bad drunk, laughing on the sidewalk while they try to hail cabs. When they finally get one they pile in messily, limbs tangled together as Steve gives his address.

His head is on Bucky’s shoulder and he’s glad. He likes it there. He likes when Steve is tucked into him like this, warm against him. And he’s wasted enough that it doesn’t mean anything, he keeps telling himself, that he keeps thinking about Steve kissing his neck at the place where his hair is currently pressed against Bucky’s throat, tucked into his lap properly, how well he would fit. It doesn’t mean anything, because he’s drunk.

They pay the driver and stagger towards Steve’s building, Bucky becoming very grateful that Steve doesn’t live in a walk-up. Steve’s arm is around his waist to steady himself and Bucky lets his brain latch onto the feeling of his hand curling onto Bucky’s ribs, because it doesn’t mean anything, because he’s drunk.

When they’re in Steve’s bed, pressed closer together than they usually are, Steve asks quietly, “Why didn’t you go home with that guy?”

“What guy?” Bucky asks, trying to play dumb because it’s easier than getting into it.

“You know what guy.” Steve says, and Bucky opens his eyes to find Steve looking at him with a serious expression.

“Didn’t want to.” Bucky says, shrugging with the shoulder he’s not leaning on.

“Sure you did.” Steve says.

“Since you know everything, why don’t you tell _me_ why I didn’t go home with him, then.” Bucky says.

“Don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” Steve says.

“I didn’t want to go home with him more than I wanted to stay with you.” Bucky says.

They stay looking at each other for a minute, Steve not saying anything.

“Glad you stayed.” He says, giving Bucky a small smile before turning onto his stomach.

“Me too.” Bucky says back quietly, shutting his eyes again. 

He wakes up feeling dizzy, head spinning when he opens his eyes to sunlight coming in through Steve’s curtains. He considers the situation: mouth dry and head throbbing whenever he moves, Steve warm against him in the dim too-early morning light, and he is, he’s glad he stayed.

++

When his mom invites him over for lunch, he really isn’t expecting it to be a family ambush.

His sister answers the door when he knocks, and that should tip him off that something horrible is happening, but it doesn’t hit him yet. 

“Hey, Bec.” He says, hugging her with one arm.

“Hey. Mom call you?” She asks, looking bemused.

“Uh, yeah. What’s going on?” He asks, narrowing his eyes.

“I mean, nothing, we’re just talking about wedding planning.” She says.

“Who’s we?” He asks suspiciously. 

“Me, Mom, the entire female side of our family.” Becca says, grimacing at him.

“Oh god.” Bucky says.

“Yep.” Becca says, clapping him on the back and walking back toward the kitchen, where he can hear his mom and aunts talking.

“Glad I got dressed properly.” Bucky says, pressing the wrinkles out of his button-up.

“I’m not. At least it’d give them something to talk about besides how young I am.” Becca says under her breath, rolling her eyes.

“In all fairness, you’re pretty young.” Bucky says, grinning when she glares at him.

His mom, several of his aunts, and his grandma are sitting around their kitchen table, talking over each other loudly in front of a bunch of bridal magazines and a big binder.

“Do you really have a wedding binder?” He asks his sister. “I thought only women in romantic comedies did that.”

“Shut up.” She says to him, deadpan.

“James is here!” Becca announces to the room at large, and it’s met with a chorus of hellos. 

“Hi, ma.” He says when she gets out of her chair to hug him.

“Oh, Bucky. I feel like I never see you anymore.” She says. He rolls his eyes with a grin.

“I live two miles away, mom.” He says.

“I know, I know.” She says, smoothing down the wrinkles he tried to smooth down a minute before.

He says hello to the rest of the crowd of relatives, going around and hugging them each individually because if he doesn’t he becomes the nephew they all hate. 

“Your hair looks terrible.” His grandmother tells him in her thick Brooklyn accent, and he smiles.

“Thanks, grandma.”

He goes over to the counter, where his mom’s laid out enough leftovers to make him wonder when she cooked it all, and microwaves a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. 

He busies himself with staring at the microwave while his aunts bicker back and forth about flower arrangements, Becca trying to get a word in edgewise and failing on most accounts.

“It’s such a short engagement, aren’t you worried you won’t be able to plan it well enough?” Aunt Eden asks her as Bucky walks over to the table, sitting on the far end across from his mom.

“It’s such a shame he’s not Jewish.” His grandma says like it’s a devastating tragedy, and the chorus of aunts mutter in agreement.

Becca, Bucky, and their mom stay quiet at that. The thing about being the daughter who had two kids with a guy she didn’t marry (who also wasn’t Jewish, for that matter) is that you don’t get to chime in with your sisters on the topic of acceptable husbands. They’ve really leaned into being the collective black sheep of the Barnes family, accepted the fact that being the single mom, the queer kid who didn’t go to college, and now the daughter getting married far too young for everyone else’s liking wasn’t gonna win them any prizes among the other branches of the family tree. And it didn’t really bother them much; they learned to be the odd ones out a long time ago. It just meant they had to stay quiet at times like this.

“I just have to ask, Rebecca -- is there _another_ reason the wedding is so soon?” Aunt Maya asks pointedly, looking down at Becca’s stomach, and when Becca looks like she’s going to explode, his mom turns to him.

“So, Bucky. Are you bringing anyone to the wedding?” She asks, and Bucky wants to groan.

“Oh, uh. I don’t know.” He says, but it’s done its job. The aunts have turned to him instead, with a creepy symmetry that belongs in a horror movie.

“Well, it’s in two months. Are you dating anyone?” She asks.

“I. I mean, not...really.” He answers, and he feels his aunts’ gazes intensify.

“You know, Marsha Abram’s son is gay.” Aunt Ilana offers, and the rest of them start mentally going through their gay Jewish sons-of-friends. He can see it in their faces.

He doesn’t bother correcting them, telling them he’s not gay, because it would only widen their pool to include Jewish daughters-of-friends too.

As three more of them open their mouths to speak, he panics.

“Actually, I am dating someone.” He says, silently praying that they don’t -- 

“Who?” Aunt Debby asks immediately, looking slightly suspicious.

That, that’s when he really panics.

What ends up happening is, he says the first name that comes to mind.

What ends up happening is, he blurts out, “Steve Rogers.” 

Without thinking, obviously. Because if he had been thinking, he would have thought of something better than this.

There’s a beat of silence, his mom and sister exchanging a look.

“The blonde boy you always ran around with?” His grandmother asks him.

“Uh. Yeah.” Bucky says, and already, there’s a ball of dread in his stomach. This was a very bad idea.

“I thought you two broke up.” Aunt Bethany says in confusion. Bucky blinks.

“Why’ve you been so quiet about it? We all knew anyway. A few years, right?” Aunt Eden asks, shrugging. He blinks again.

“Um.” Bucky says eloquently. “No, not a few years.”

“Bring him to the wedding.” Aunt Debby says, and they all nod in agreement.

“I mean, he’s already invited.” Becca says, shrugging. She’s looking at him like she doesn’t know what to make of this whole thing, and honestly, he doesn’t either.

“He’s a nice boy.” His grandma says, smiling, and despite the lunacy of the situation it makes him smile too.

“Yes, he’s a very nice boy.” Bucky says.

“Handsome, too.” Aunt Maya says, winking at Bucky, and he feels himself blush.

“Will you bring him? We want to meet him.” Aunt Bethany says.

“You’ve all met him.” Bucky says, because they have. Steve was at Bucky’s bar mitzvah, Becca’s bat mitzvah, and too many graduation and birthday parties, sometimes for family members Steve didn’t even know. Bucky’s pretty sure even his blind grandfather could recognize Steve at this point.

“Oh, just bring him.” Ilana says, looking excited in the way that he only sees his extended family members when they’re being nosy.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll bring him.” Bucky says, running his hands through his hair.

The rest of the lunch goes more smoothly, everyone suddenly getting along just fine, and his sister keeps shooting him grateful looks.

“Thank you.” She murmurs to him in the kitchen while their mom says goodbye to everyone.

“Uh-huh.” He says over the sound of the sink while he washes dishes.

“Are you and Steve actually together?” She asks, but he turns around and gives her a dull look.

“Are you pregnant?” He asks her back.

“No.” She says, getting the point. “Well, thanks. At least it’ll give everyone something to talk about besides me.”

“I know.” Bucky says. 

“How are you gonna get Steve to go along with this?” She asks him, grinning.

“You heard grandma, he’s a nice boy. He’ll do it.”

++

“No.” Steve says the minute Bucky walks in the door. 

“What?” Bucky asks.

“You have that look like you’re gonna ask me for something. The answer is no.” Steve says. He hasn’t looked up from where he’s reading the Times at his kitchen table, because Steve has the hobbies of a senior citizen. 

“You haven’t even looked at me.” Bucky says defensively, putting a hand on his hip.

“You always ask me for something. I don’t know why I even let you in, you’re a menace.” Steve says, but he looks up and grins at Bucky. “You look nice.” He gestures at Bucky’s outfit, slacks and a button-up.

“Thanks. I was at my mom’s. Becca says hi.” Bucky says, grabbing an apple from Steve’s counter and sitting down across from him.

“You act like your mom doesn’t know you usually dress like shit. How’s the wedding planning going?” Steve asks, looking at the apple in Bucky’s hand before going back to the paper. 

“Fine, I guess. The whole damn matriarchal firing squad was present, but other than that.” Bucky says, and Steve snorts.

“Sounds great.” He says, and Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, it was.” Bucky says, taking a bite out of the apple.

“I still can’t believe she’s getting married, she’s so young.” Steve says, folding his newspaper carefully. 

“You sound like my mother.” Bucky says, grinning.

“Your mother’s smart.” Steve says, grinning back at him. 

There’s a moment of quiet, just the noise of Steve turning the page, and Bucky decides to strike.

“So, Steve.” Bucky starts, and Steve rolls his eyes.

Steve mutters, “I knew it, I fuckin’ knew it,” under his breath, getting up to pour more coffee into his mug

“Steve. Just hear me out.” Bucky says.

“What is it.” Steve asks, trying his best to look serious. But it’s hard for Bucky to take Steve seriously sometimes, that concentrated look on his face when he’s wearing a Game of Thrones shirt. 

“So my aunts are all over Becca about this wedding. Because of, you know, everything.” Bucky starts with.

“Everything?” Steve asks.

“She’s twenty, he’s Christian, et cetera.” Bucky says, shrugging.

Steve’s leaned against his fridge, looking at Bucky. “Ah.”

“Anyway, one of them inferred that she’s pregnant, which she’s not, but if one of them says it, the whole neighborhood thinks so.” Bucky says. 

Steve’s still staring at him over his mug of coffee, taking a sip. 

“So long story short, I told them we were dating.” 

Steve chokes on his coffee.

“No.” He manages through a cough.

“It’s the only thing keeping them occupied from eating Becca alive. Come on, Steve. We just have to pretend to be a couple for the wedding.” Bucky says, trying his best to sell this.

“ _No_.” Steve says again, still coughing slightly.

“Steve. Becca’s going crazy with this stuff. Also, if I tell them we broke up _now_ , my grandma will hate you.” Bucky says.

Steve sighs heavily. “I hate _you_.”

“You don’t.” Bucky says.

“I don’t.” Steve says, knocking his glasses up as he rubs the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll do it. But this is my wedding gift to your sister.” 

“I’ll pass it along.” Bucky says, feeling pleased.

“This is one of the dumbest things you’ve ever dragged me into.” Steve says over his coffee, looking grumpy.

“See, but not _the_ dumbest.” Bucky says, and Steve rolls his eyes at him again.

“You’re an idiot.” Steve says, resigned.

“Oh, leave me alone.” Bucky says, standing up and walking over to Steve just to punch his arm.

Sam walks in the door, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be responsible adults? Why are you home in the middle of a Thursday?” Bucky asks as a greeting, and Sam rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“My classes end at 4, asshole.” Sam says, and then aims at Steve, “What’s your excuse?” 

“Stayed home sick.” Steve shrugs.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Oh my god.” Steve says, looking exasperated. “Leave me alone.” 

“Sorry I’m concerned for your health, Steven.” Bucky says, rolling his eyes.

“Jesus christ, Bucky.” Steve mutters, but he’s fighting a smile.

Sam, who knows well enough to tune these things out, has gracefully removed himself from the conversation and gone about unpacking his bag, stacking textbooks on the coffee table. 

“I’m just trying to look out for you, jerk.” Bucky says, and Steve snorts again.

“Don’t worry about it, Buck. Just normal stuff.” Steve says, shrugging. 

Except that normal stuff for Steve was never really normal. He was diagnosed with lupus when he turned thirteen and everything started to make more sense after that; why his infections hung on for so long, why he was always tired, how he always stayed so skinny. 

He didn’t have flare-ups often and had always taken any daily symptoms in his stride (and only Steve Rogers, Bucky thinks, can take chronic illness in his stride), but normal stuff, Bucky knew, was usually shitty. 

“You do look terrible.” He says in a joking voice. 

“Thanks.” Steve says dryly. 

“Yeah, no problem, buddy.” Bucky says, grinning. Steve grins back.

“Alright, well, if you two are done.” Sam says, and Bucky scoffs.

“Why are _you_ here, anyway? Interrogating me in my own damn house.” Sam says, smirking at Bucky.

“Just came by to ask Steve a favor.” Bucky says. He doesn’t know why but it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he wants to say out loud. Steve’s avoiding his eye, looking back down at his paper, so Bucky thinks he agrees.

Sam looks between them, an eyebrow raised. “Nobody gonna elaborate on that? Is it some weird childhood blood pact shit? Don’t answer that. I’ll assume it is.” 

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t correct him, his cheeks flushing light pink like he’s embarrassed by this whole situation, and Sam just snickers before leaving the room.

“You should really rest, you know. Honestly.” Bucky says, and Steve rolls his eyes again.

“I’m fine, Bucky. Don’t worry.” He says softly. 

“Okay. I trust you.” Bucky says, and Steve looks at him like he said something impressive, not just the truth. 

“Don’t look at me like that, idiot.” Bucky says, grinning.

“Not looking at you like anything.” Steve mutters before opening his newspaper again and going back to reading quietly.

++

The wedding is in a month and a half and Bucky still hasn’t rented a tux, Steve reminds him petulantly over text while Bucky’s on the train.

How anyone can be petulant over text message Bucky isn’t completely sure but Steve has managed to perfect it over a matter of years. 

_ok ok i’ll get on it_ , Bucky texts back a few minutes later.

 _i’m just saying_ , Steve sends back.

Bucky sends him the annoyed side-eyes emoji.

Steve (5:47): _don’t use rude emojis at me_

Bucky (5:47): _i thought you were my pretend boyfriend not my pretend wife_

Steve (5:48): _wow good one bucky_

Bucky (5:48): _shut up_

Steve (5:48): _you’re really on top of the comebacks today_

Bucky (5:49): _leave me alone steve_

Steve (5:49): _insult master bucky barnes over here_

Bucky (5:50): _ok i’ll set a fitting appointment are you happy_

Steve (5:51): _yes_

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, presses Steve’s name on his phone and calls him instead.

“You’re annoying over text.” Bucky says in greeting, and Steve laughs.

“You remember the wedding shower is Saturday, right?” Bucky asks.

“Yes, Bucky. Saturday is _tomorrow_. I know what day it is. You’re being so weird about this.” Steve says. 

He hears papers rustling in the background and he glances at his watch, realizing Steve’s still at work.

“Sorry, I forgot you were working. Want me to go?” Bucky asks, leaning his head back against the window. 

“Nah. I was bored anyway.” Steve says.

Bucky laughs softly. “Okay.” 

There’s a beat of dead air, and then Bucky says, “And I’m not being weird.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve reminded me every day this week about this party. When has there ever in the history of the world been something you’ve remembered and I haven’t?” Steve asks him.

“Just because it hasn’t happened _yet_ doesn’t mean anything. Anyway, shut up. I’m nervous.” Bucky says, biting his fingernail.

“God, don’t be. It’s just your family.” Steve laughs. 

Bucky knows it’s just his family. That’s not really what he’s nervous about.

“And this guy’s.” Bucky points out, even though that's not what he's nervous about either.

“Have you met them before?” 

“Nope.” Bucky says. He’s still biting at his thumbnail absentmindedly, eyes closed with his head leaned back.

“What’s this guy like, anyway? What's his name, Daniel?” Steve asks. Bucky hears him rustle papers again.

“Yeah. I’ve only met him a few times, but he’s nice. Seems like a good guy. Becca seems to like him. You know, enough to marry him.” Bucky says, and Steve laughs.

“She’s smart. He’s probably alright. His family too.” Steve says, and Bucky nods even though Steve can’t see him.

He’s not nervous to meet his sister’s in-laws, or even because this poor guy’s family has to be subjected to the his own family for a few hours. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s nervous. But Steve’s right, he has been weird.

“What are you working on?” Bucky asks Steve in an effort to stop himself thinking about it.

“Not much, this presentation I have to give next week.” Steve says.

“Big man over here with his presentations.” Bucky says, and Steve breathes out a laugh.

“That’s me.” Steve agrees.

“Everyone make way for Steve, he’s got things to present.” Bucky continues, and Steve laughs harder.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me when I say this, okay?” Steve says.

“No promises.” Bucky says.

“I miss you.” Steve says, and Bucky feels himself grin fondly.

“You just saw me a week and a half ago.” Bucky says. But he doesn’t laugh.

“I know. I don’t know, I feel like it’s been a while since we’ve hung out just us.” Steve says. Bucky’s still grinning, in that absentminded way where he won’t realize he’s doing it for ten minutes at a time.

“Come over tonight.” Bucky says.

Steve considers for a minute. “Yeah, okay. I have to be in Brooklyn tomorrow morning anyway, might as well just stay at yours.” 

“Might as well.” Bucky repeats. “I miss you too.”

It’s quiet for a minute, the line dead between them. They let it stay that way for a few minutes before they both snap out of the sentiment, saying goodbyes that aren’t really goodbyes because Steve will be on his doorstep in a couple hours.

And in a couple hours, there he is, carrying Indian takeout and a six pack of dumb craft beer because Steve is too pretentious for normal beer. (“I am not,” Steve always says in response. He is too.)

“I miss living with you sometimes.” Steve says when they’re sitting facing each other on the couch, styrofoam containers in their laps and knees knocking together. 

“Only sometimes?” Bucky asks, grinning.

“Of course. You’re annoying as hell, Bucky.” Steve answers plainly, looking up and grinning back.

“You’re no picnic yourself, pal.” Bucky says back, taking another bite of his food. 

“Mhm.” Steve says sarcastically.

In truth, the last time they lived together was a disaster, but the reasons were mostly outside of their control. Steve was two-thirds into his freshman year at NYU, doing well enough for Bucky to be able to feel proud even over all the nineteen-and-without-direction bitterness he didn’t like to acknowledge ever took over his brain. 

But then it all happened real quick: Steve’s mom was doing okay, and then she wasn’t, and then she died. Complications after a sudden heart attack. Bucky didn’t find out lupus was genetic until that day in the hospital, when Steve told him his mom had it too, that she’d had heart disease for years because of it.

A day later, Steve showed up on Bucky’s doorstep with a suitcase and a clenched jaw, sat down on Bucky’s sofa and didn’t move for two days. He missed his finals but he didn’t care; he kept forgetting to eat and wouldn’t sleep at night, just pace around the kitchen. 

It was coincidence that Bucky’s roommate was moving out, that he had an extra bedroom for Steve to settle into while he settled back into himself. He took a year off school, repacking his dorm in Manhattan to haphazardly unpack it in Brooklyn, a block away from where they grew up.

It was a long year. Steve kept making himself sick, not eating and not sleeping, and then he’d just get more angry and sad about it all, sink further into himself in a way that Bucky had never seen him do before. Eventually he started coming back out of himself, started dealing with it all. But it was a long year.

Still, though. Still, sometimes he misses living with Steve. 

“You always took forever in the shower.” Steve accuses him, like that was their biggest concern as roommates.

“It was the hair,” Bucky says, remembering his shoulder-length hair that lasted him til he was 21.

“I liked the hair.” Steve says with a shrug.

“Who didn’t?” Bucky says with a cocky wink and Steve laughs.

“Your mom. Your sister. Every employer you ever had.” Steve lists, counting off on his fingers.

“These are the reasons I no longer have the hair.” Bucky says.

They eat in quiet for a few minutes, their feet on top of each other in the middle of the couch.

“So tomorrow’s our first outing as a couple.” Steve says casually, and Bucky feels his cheeks heat up. He pretends it’s from the Indian food even though he ordered it mild.

“Yeah.” Bucky says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. He thinks about his aunt telling him she thought they’d been together for years. He hasn’t told Steve about that.

“What’s the difference in the way your family treats your friends and the way they treat the people you’re dating?” Steve asks him.

“I wouldn’t know.” Bucky says, looking down at his food.

“You’ve never brought anyone else home?” Steve asks, surprised.

“Nope.” Bucky says.

“Wow.” Steve says, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t get a big head about this.” Bucky says, and Steve smiles.

“No, never.” Steve says.

“You’re not important.” Bucky lies.

“Completely unimportant.” Steve agrees, but he’s still grinning.

“Great, glad we’re clear on that.”

“Mhm.”

They finish eating while Steve tells a story from work, gesticulating with his fork and getting curry on Bucky’s couch.

It’s nice, just the two of them. Steve’s right, it had been a while. Bucky loves Sam but sometimes he misses when it was always just them, bickering for half an hour over what to watch on television, their food getting cold before they ever decided on something.

“I’m tired as hell.” Steve says at 10:30 PM. “Is this what being an adult is like?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Bucky says back, and Steve snorts.

“Shut up, Buck. You work 40 hours a week, you’re an adult.” Steve says.

“Is that the defining rule, then?” Bucky asks, getting up from the couch and stretching his back.

“It’s like, if you work more than 30 hours a week, own more than two pairs of dress shoes, and no longer find large outdoor music festivals fun.” Steve says, following Bucky into his bedroom.

“You never found large outdoor music festivals fun.” Bucky protests, crawling into his bed while Steve rifles through Bucky’s drawers to find the sweatshirt Bucky knows he’s looking for. It’s the oversized sweatshirt with their high school logo on it that he’s been borrowing from Bucky for five years but will never take when Bucky offers it.

It’s big on Bucky but huge on Steve and it always makes Bucky laugh and Steve glare at him.

“You wouldn’t laugh at me if I was your _real_ boyfriend.” Steve grumbles, climbing into Bucky’s bed.

“Trust me, I would.” Bucky says. Steve glares at him again but it’s softened by a yawn and he slumps down onto Bucky’s pillow.

“Goodnight, asshole.” Steve says, voice muffled by the pillow, and Bucky laughs before turning over onto his side. He feels Steve shuffle closer to him and Bucky smiles to himself, small and warm.

++

“You look like a nerd.” Bucky tells Steve the next morning over orange juice.

“I always look like a nerd.” Steve says.

“True, but you’re in like, peak form right now.” Bucky says. 

Steve adjusts his glasses exaggeratedly and Bucky snickers. He thinks maybe it’s the red sweater that’s doing it, especially over the button-up shirt and khakis. 

“Well, thank you. You look like a hipster.” Steve says, putting toast into the toaster.

“Is hipster still a thing?” Bucky asks. Steve rolls his eyes.

“It is right now, because you look like one.” Steve responds.

“It’s the boots, huh?” Bucky asks, looking down at his brown ankle boots.

“It’s very much the boots. They’re nice though.” Steve shrugs, handing him a piece of toast.

They eat their toast and Steve washes their dishes even though Bucky tells him not to. All in all, it’s a fairly normal morning for the circumstances being so fucking weird.

He doesn’t start to get that weird gut nervousness again until they’re on his mother’s doorstep and Steve says, “Wait,” steps in front of Bucky to fix his collar before they walk in.

“Thanks.” Bucky says quietly.

“No problem.” Steve says back.

And it’s a strange moment, hushed quiet standing on the street they grew up on, neither of them moving to walk inside. It lasts too long, more than a normal pause, and Bucky clears his throat to break the silence.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Steve says, broken out of the moment and stepping to the side while Bucky reaches forward to open the front door.

He didn’t know what he was expecting the party to be, but it certainly is cramped. He sees his grandparents sitting on the couch, next to his mom and one of her sisters. There are several aunts and uncles strewn across the living room, little kids running around somewhere near the kitchen, and a bunch of people he doesn’t recognize that he can only assume are his sister’s fiance’s family. He catches a glimpse of Becca standing in the kitchen holding a champagne glass and points her out to Steve, who looks amused by the scene in front of them.

“This is why I like going to your family functions.” Steve says, letting himself be pulled along by Bucky at the wrist toward the kitchen.

“Why? It’s like the zoo but free?” Bucky asks, turning back to smirk at Steve.

“Oh, shut up. No, I just never got to have big and loud. I like big and loud.” Steve says, gesturing with his free hand around them at the family chaos.

“Between you and me, small and quiet is infinitely superior.” Bucky tells him, his fingers still clasped around Steve’s wrist as they weave through a crowd of in-laws.

“Well it’s good we have each other, then. Always have the greener pasture to visit.” Steve says and Bucky gives him an amused look.

“What?” Steve asks.

“That was very eloquently worded.” Bucky says.

“I’m very eloquent.” Steve says, pushing up his glasses.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Bucky says back, rolling his eyes. They’re standing in the doorway to the kitchen and Bucky walks the rest of the way over to Becca, who’s nursing her champagne like it’s a security blanket.

“Thank god you’re here.” She says, leaning in to hug him.

“That’s what they all say.” Bucky tells her, and she leans back to glare at him momentarily.

“Hi Steve,” She says over Bucky’s shoulder, her jaw hitting Bucky’s collarbone.

“Hi Becca.” Steve says back, waving cheerfully. Or at least, Bucky assumes he’s waving cheerfully, because that’s the sort of thing Steve does. He doesn’t know firsthand because his sister is still stuck to him.

“It’s been that bad, huh?” He asks her as he pries himself backward.

“I overheard grandma talking to Daniel’s mother about conversion.” Becca whines.

“Oh, god.” Bucky says sympathetically. “I can distract her, maybe.”

“Please just go corral her in a room or something.” Becca moans.

“Don’t talk about your grandmother like that,” Bucky’s mother scolds, swooping in from seemingly nowhere because her scolding instincts apparently never went bad.

“Hi, Ms. Barnes.” Steve says, waving cheerfully. Bucky _knew_ he waved cheerfully.

“Hi, Steve. Please eat something, you’re making me weak just looking at you.” Bucky’s mom says, but she grins at Steve while she says it.

Steve grins sheepishly and picks up a plate from the kitchen counter, piling brisket onto it dutifully. 

Bucky’s family love having Steve at family functions as much as he enjoys being there, and a main reason is that he is a scrawny empty vessel for them to place their ill-founded worries about their own children starving into. Steve, bless him, has never fought it, always nodding seriously as if he agrees that if he doesn’t eat another serving he may actually die. 

“How’ve you been, Stevie? I haven’t seen you in ages.” His mom says, fussing over the collar of his shirt while Steve looks mildly embarrassed.

“Oh, I’ve been fine. Just working.” He says, cheeks flushed pink as he grabs a fork and starts to eat his brisket. 

“Oh, you’re so grown up. You’re all so grown up now.” Bucky’s mom says, patting him on the shoulder, and Steve’s face gets redder.

“Mom, mom, stop.” Bucky says through laughter, gently removing his mother from Steve.

“It’s an emotional day for me, James.” His mom says, looking hurt.

“Every day is an emotional day for you, mom.” Bucky says, still laughing. His mom frowns at him.

“Have you even said hello to anyone?” His mom asks him, crossing her arms.

“I was getting around to it.” Bucky says defensively.

“Well, go get around to it now.” 

Bucky pouts and mutters “Fine”, ushering Steve out of the kitchen with him.

Steve looks longingly at his plate of food on the counter but doesn’t protest, following Bucky along from family member to family member.

The first time he says, “This is Steve, my boyfriend,” it sticks in his jaw the same way “bisexual” used to when he was sixteen, the way it sounded foreign and stupid. But then he kept having to do it, and it started to feel more like it mattered. That’s what’s happening now, with the same five words over and over, repeated to relative after relative.

Most of them know Steve already from his regular appearances at family gatherings since Bucky was eight. This had been a promising thought for Bucky going in; how embarrassing could they be when they already knew the guy?

As it turns out, pretty embarrassing.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you two. I always knew you’d end up together.” His aunt Debby tells him affectionately, and Bucky laughs nervously. 

“Thanks.” Steve says through a smile, his fingers intertwining with Bucky’s at their side. 

“You’re really good at this,” Bucky tells him in a hushed voice during a lull.

“It’s pretty fun, honestly.” Steve says, shrugging. 

“You only think that because they all like you more than they like me.” Bucky accuses with a smirk.

“I mean, it helps.” Steve says, smirking back. They’re still holding hands.

At some point one of his small cousins ropes Steve into playing a board game with the rest of the seven-year-olds (Bucky’s cousins have always been obsessed with Steve; he wonders if it’s genetic) and Steve is too nice to refuse, so Bucky walks over to the table with all the alcohol on it to pour himself champagne. 

It’s only after he’s been leaned against the wall for a few minutes, watching Steve let kindergarteners beat him at Chutes and Ladders, that he realizes his sister’s fiance is standing next to him.

“Oh, hi.” Bucky says, wiping the condensation from his glass on his pants to shake his hand.

“Hi, Bucky.” Daniel says, smiling friendly. 

“How’s your afternoon been?” Bucky asks.

“Uh. Overwhelming.” Daniel says apologetically with a grin.

“That’s what we do best. I hope your family’s doing okay.” Bucky says sympathetically and Daniel laughs.

“They’re fine. They’re much less personally anxious about this than me. My parents are having fun, actually.” He points toward them, standing with Bucky’s mom who’s talking animatedly. 

“That’s more than I can say for some of us.” Bucky says.

“Your boyfriend seems pretty adjusted to it.” Daniel says, gesturing toward where Steve is giving his three-year-old second cousin a piggy-back ride.

“He’s very nice and will put up with almost anything. It’s his superpower.” Bucky says.

Something inside him gets warm and weird whenever he talks like that, like Steve really is his boyfriend, like this is a normal dialogue. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it was so _easy_ to do this, that no one blinked, that everyone just said “Oh, of course.” It makes him nervous. And he realizes very suddenly that that’s what’s been making him nervous for a week. That this could just be real.

He takes another sip of his champagne, deciding to push that line of thoughts out of his brain. 

“I’m going to go intervene in this, actually.” Bucky says when he sees the older kids come up to Steve to ask him for piggy-back rides. 

“Good luck.” Daniel tells him.

“Hey, guys, come on. Stop asking Steve to carry you.” Bucky says, as authoritatively as you can say a sentence like that.

“That’s not _fair_ ,” one of his middle-school aged cousins tells him. “The little kids got turns.”

“Do you see Steve? Look at him. Look how tall you are and how tall he is.” Bucky says, smirking after he hears Steve’s indignant huff.

“This is mean.” Steve says, aggravated. “You’re literally insulting me to children.” 

“Don’t be mean, Bucky.” One of the five-year-olds tells him in a serious voice.

“You’re right, that was mean. I’m allowed to be mean to Steve because he’s my friend, but no one else is.” Bucky tells the five-year-old.

“Your _boy_ friend.” She snickers back to him.

“Oh. Yeah, that too.” Bucky says, correcting himself quickly. “But don’t be mean to your friends. Me and Steve are the only friends who are allowed to be mean to each other.” 

“That’s a really arbitrary rule.” Steve tells him, crossing his arms.

“Stop it.” Bucky says warningly. “Don’t undermine me, Steve.”

“I’m just saying.” Steve says nonchalantly. 

“This is done now. Stop saying words.” Bucky says through his teeth. Steve shrugs again, a smirk on his face.

“Okay, I’m taking Steve away now.” Bucky says to the kids, who groan.

“Sorry Bucky’s so mean and horrible!” Steve turns and says to them as Bucky drags him off by the hand again. 

“You are so annoying.” Bucky mutters.

“You just made fun of me _to children_.” Steve says, but he doesn’t look too bothered by it. 

“I was trying to save you from your own niceness before you broke your back giving my stupid cousins piggy-back rides, thank you very much.” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. 

“What would I do without you, Bucky?” Steve asks. He’s being sarcastic but Bucky doesn’t let that stop him.

“Die, probably.” Bucky answers him simply. 

“Come on, we just have to talk to my grandparents and then we can stop talking to people forever.”

“That sounds like a promise you can’t fulfill.” Steve says, but he lets Bucky keep pulling him.

Bucky’s grandparents are sitting on the couch, his grandmother’s voice carrying from several feet away as she talks about the wedding.

“It’s just over a month away and I don’t even know who’s in the bridal party, let alone -- oh, it’s James and the boy he’s seeing.” His grandma says, shifting gears when she sees them.

“Hi grandma.” Bucky says, leaning down and hugging her.

“Hi ma’am, I’m Steve, we’ve met before.” Steve says, reaching out to shake her hand.

“I remember, I remember.” She assures Steve, looking pleased that she has something new to talk about.

“Boy?” Bucky’s grandfather asks belatedly.

“Yes, James is the one who sees boys.” His grandmother tells him matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Okay.” Bucky’s grandfather says, losing interest in the conversation and going back to the magazine he has open in his lap. 

“Are you having a good time?” Bucky asks his grandmother.

“Oh, sure. I always like seeing all my grandchildren.” She says, looking pleased. “How are you, Steve?”

“I’m good, ma’am.” Steve says cheerfully.

“You’re so polite, and so handsome, too. He’s a keeper, James.” His grandmother stage-whispers to him and Bucky laughs nervously.

“Thanks, grandma.” Bucky says. 

“I mean it! You could see it from when you were kids. You two can get married now, right?” His grandmother asks, sounding innocently curious.

“Uh, yes. Legally, yes.” Steve answers, also grinning nervously.

“That’s nice.” His grandmother tells them. “Maybe you next, eh?”

“Maybe!” Bucky says through another bout of nervous laughter. “Okay, we’re going to go now.”

“No funny business, you two.” His grandma says with a sly grin and Bucky feels himself go beet red.

“Bye, grandma!” Bucky calls, quickly walking away and pulling Steve with him.

“Holy shit.” Steve mutters through a cackle as they walk away.

“I’m done.” Bucky declares, before heading toward the stairs up to his old bedroom.

“Holy _shit_.” Steve says, still laughing as he walks up the stairs behind Bucky.

“That was incredible.” Steve says as Bucky walks into his bedroom and flops onto his twin-sized bed.

He moans loudly into the covers, embarrassed of everything in his whole life. Steve is still laughing.

“You wanna know the funniest thing?” Bucky asks miserably, turning over.

“Yes.” Steve responds, sitting down on the top of Bucky’s dresser.

“That’s the most she’s ever approved of any person anyone in my family has brought home.” Bucky says, groaning and covering his head with a pillow.

Steve laughs harder and Bucky goes back to moaning sadly. 

“Hey, stop moaning, people will get the wrong idea.” Steve says through semi-hysterical laughter at this point.

“Steve, shut the fuck up.” Bucky says, and Steve almost falls off of Bucky’s dresser, gasping for air between laughs.

“It’s not funny!” Bucky yells, but he’s smiling despite himself, standing up to make sure Steve doesn’t actually fall off the dresser. He puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder to anchor him and Steve leans into it, still laughing into Bucky’s side.

“This is the most ridiculous situation I’ve ever been in.” Steve says, laughter fading as he wipes at his eyes.

“Thank you, by the way.” Bucky says, and Steve looks confused. “For being in it.”

“Yeah, Buck. It’s not a big deal.” Steve shrugs. He’s still leaned against Bucky’s side, like once Bucky offered him a point of contact Steve had to keep it. 

“It is, kind of. But thanks.” Bucky says, grinning at Steve. 

They sit there, leaned against each other, facing the half-empty remains of Bucky’s childhood bedroom, and it’s weirdly nostalgic. Somewhere on the back of the dresser they’re sitting on are their initials, carved out of a bizarre sense of eight-year-old rebellion because they realized they could. There’s a place on the carpet near the bed where they dropped the matches they were playing with and burned the fibers, making the whole room smell like smoke for a week and leaving it with a black mark.

It’s a physical collection of a portion of the scars they’ve made on the world, separately and as SteveandBucky, the collective entity that everyone learned to say without any pauses from a very early age. 

“We should probably go back downstairs.” Steve says after a while.

“Probably. We are technically here to divert attention from Becca.” Bucky says, standing up properly.

“Also, like, your grandma thinks I’m sucking your dick right now.” Steve says and Bucky makes a horrified noise.

Steve starts cackling again.

The rest of the party goes on without much event. At some point his mother makes a teary-eyed speech and Becca cries and Bucky won’t admit it but he cries a little too. Steve doesn’t mention it but he gives him a surprised look out of the corner of his eye. 

They talk to more family members and Bucky meets Daniel’s parents, who are nice and seem unaffected by the insanity of the Barnes family, which is a good sign. All the little cousins say goodbye to Steve but not Bucky and Bucky tries not to get offended 

(“I’m shiny and new, that’s why.” Steve assures him when he catches Bucky pouting. “You’re old and boring.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky replies in a dry voice.

“Also, you’re mean and I’m nice.” 

“Thank you, Steve.”)

Bucky tries to sneak them out before everyone has left so he doesn’t get saddled with helping to clean up, but it doesn’t work, his mom calling him out loudly and putting him on dish duty.

He’s standing in front of the sink washing approximately four million plates while his mom talks to Steve at the kitchen table, asking him about his life. 

“I’m still working for an advertising firm, I’m doing graphic design.” Steve tells Bucky’s mom for probably the hundredth time since he got the job a year and a half ago.

“That’s right, that’s right.” His mom says, for the hundredth time. 

Bucky turns the disposal on, only hearing snippets of their conversation through the noise. He catches Steve telling her that he’s still living with Sam, yes the boy he met at college, yes the one going into social work, yes he’s still living on the Lower East Side. He tunes out for his mother’s customary six-minute speech about rent prices in Manhattan and how Brooklyn will always have more character, the one she’s been giving since the day the universe was created, he assumes. 

When he tunes back in, the disposal and the water turned off so he can dry the plates sitting on the disk rack, he hears his mom say, “I wish your mother could come to the wedding.” 

Bucky cringes, can imagine Steve’s flinch. Steve never got good at talking about it, not really even to Bucky. Not that Bucky particularly blames him; it’s not like Bucky ever knew how to help him get better at it. Part of him had hoped living with Sam would help, Sam being the most empathetic and emotionally mature person Bucky had ever met. And maybe it had; Sam was good for Steve in a lot of ways, always had been. Better for Steve than Bucky ever had been, probably, but that was a different train of thought that Bucky didn’t particularly want to latch onto at the moment. 

Steve responds with something Bucky can’t make out, sounding normal but a little shaken. The conversation moves on while Bucky puts dishes away, porcelain clinking against itself. 

An hour later, he’s taking home a paper grocery bag full of tupperware with leftovers in it, promising his mother he’ll send Steve home with half of it. They both hug his mom and wave goodbye to Becca, who got too tipsy on champagne and has been half-asleep on the living room couch for hours.

“Bye Bucky, bye Steve, thanks for pretending to be gay.” She says as she waves, making his mother roll her eyes and Steve cackle. 

“Well, you know, with each other. You know what I mean. They know what I mean, mom.” Bucky hears her say as the door closes and Bucky grins.

They take the fifteen minute walk back to Bucky’s apartment building mostly in silence. It’s not til they’re a few blocks away that Steve asks a little suddenly, “Do your family ever use the word bisexual?” 

Bucky blinks, taken aback. “Sometimes. When they’re putting energy into it.”

“Does it bother you?” Steve asks him.

“Sometimes. When I’m putting energy into it.” Bucky answers, grinning a little sarcastically. 

“Seriously.” Steve says. He looks kind of serious, eyebrows furrowed a little like he’s concentrated on this. Bucky wonders what’s got him worked up.

“I don’t know. Sometimes it does bother me. I’m mostly used to it. I figure if that’s the worst thing that ever happens to me from not being straight, I gotta re-explain myself every time I mention a girl, I don’t really have anything to be upset about.” Bucky says, shrugging.

“Just curious.” Steve says when Bucky looks at him questioningly. “It bothers me.” 

“That my family don’t say bisexual?” Bucky asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. I know what you’re saying. I just hate always having to defend my existence. Your existence.” Steve says. He shrugs again when Bucky keeps looking at him.

“You’ve always been a lot more righteous than me, buddy.” Bucky says, but it’s not dismissive. He smiles genuinely at Steve, because it’s the truth.

Steve rolls his eyes but he smiles too.

“Maybe, but I’m just saying.” He says. 

“I know.” Bucky says back. 

They walk up to Bucky’s apartment, and Steve takes his shoes and jacket off and sits down on Bucky’s couch like it’s second nature.

“All in all, successful party.” Bucky says, unpacking the bag of leftovers into his barren fridge.

“Are you just saying that because you don’t have to go grocery shopping for a week?” Steve asks, snickering.

“Stop laughing at your own jokes, you aren’t that funny.” Bucky calls back.

“I really am.” Steve says, and Bucky laughs softly to himself.

“Well, no more dating obligations til the rehearsal dinner, I think.” Bucky says, walking over to the sofa and sitting down next to Steve.

“Well thank god, otherwise your family will have _our_ flower arrangements picked out.” Steve says with a smirk, and Bucky blushes.

“What the hell are you watching?” Bucky asks to change the subject, gesturing toward the TV.

“The news, Bucky.” Steve answers, like it’s perfectly obvious. 

“You are the only person in the tri-state area who watches the news on television.” Bucky says, baffled.

“I beg to differ.” Steve says indignantly.

“Okay, under the age of sixty-five.” Bucky offers. Steve doesn’t respond to that.

Bucky smirks, but as a peace offering, quietly watches ten minutes of the news with Steve. He draws the line at a story about raccoons, grabbing the remote before Steve can protest.

“You staying the weekend?” Bucky asks Steve a little while later over a brightly-colored cartoon show.

“Yeah.” Steve says, propping his feet up on Bucky’s coffee table like it’s second nature.

++

It’s a week and a half later when Steve calls him at 1 AM, his phone buzzing beside his leg where’s he’s sitting in his bed staring at his computer. He raises his eyebrows at his phone screen, wondering exactly what in the hell.

His first thought, as it usually tends to be, is that something awful has happened.

The truth is a lot funnier.

“Buckyyyyyyy!” Steve yells on the other end of the phone, and Bucky laughs.

“Hi, Steve. How’s your night going?” Bucky asks. 

“So gooooood.” Steve answers, words slurred together.

“What’s up?” Bucky asks him. He can hear crowd noise in the background.

“I’m more drunk than I have been since college!” Steve answers excitedly.

“Wow. That’s nice.” Bucky says.

“Yes.” Steve responds confidently. “I decided to call you, because I wanted to call you.” 

“Well, you did it.”

“I sure fuckin’ did. How are you, Bucky?” Steve asks.

“I’m good, Steve. Why are you out on a Wednesday night, exactly?” Bucky asks, amused.

“It was Peggy’s birthday and she invited me and Sam and everyone else in the fucking universe to this party.” Steve says, words slung together easily.

“Was it fun?” Bucky asks. He abandons the page on his laptop he was looking at, focusing on Steve instead.

“Yes! I have already kissed ten of the people here, isn’t that crazy?” Steve asks.

“Already? You’ve had a big night, huh?” Bucky asks. He knows it’s not what Steve means but it’s fun anyway.

“No, shut up, I mean in college. Why does my ex-girlfriend know ten people I’ve kissed? Wait, or maybe it’s that all the people I kissed know my ex-girlfriend. What’s the difference?” Steve asks Bucky, sounding confused.

“That one’s a riddle. How’s Peggy?” Bucky asks. He always liked Peggy. She was gorgeous and hilarious and always as gone for Steve as he was for her. It had been a couple years since they dated but honestly, Bucky was never completely sure why they broke up. It just kind of happened, and then fairly seamlessly, they were close friends who got brunch together like nothing ever interrupted them. 

“Peggy’s great! Not as drunk as me but also pretty fuckin’ drunk.” Steve says, giggling.

“Tell her happy birthday from me.” 

“Peggy! Bucky says happy birthday!” Steve yells with his mouth away from his phone. There’s some muffled yelling in the background, then he says to Bucky, “She says thanks.”

“Is Sam there?” Bucky asks, glancing at the time again.

“No, he went home ‘cause he’s got eight AM classes and he’s boring.” Steve says, sounding disapproving.

“Responsible.” Bucky corrects.

“Boooooo!” Steve yells on the other end of the line.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow morning?” Bucky asks him.

“Boooooooo!” Steve yells again, louder this time.

“Fair enough.” Bucky says.

“Hey, you wanna know something fuckin’ crazy?” Steve asks him, laughing.

“Yeah?” 

“One of the people here is that guy who rowed crew that I used to hook up with when I was eighteen, the one who was obsessed with vikings. How the fuck does Peggy Carter know Thor Odinson?” Steve asks, still laughing.

“Which one was he?” Bucky asks, trying to place the name. 

“The huge blonde one with the muscles. Like, huge. Wait, you never met him. Don’t worry about it. He’s like six foot seven, though. _Huge_.” Steve repeats the word again.

“That is very tall.” Bucky says, thinking about how small Steve is.

“He had a really big dick.” Steve says thoughtfully. Bucky snorts.

“That’s nice, Steve.” Bucky says around a laugh.

“I can’t believe I didn’t tell you about his dick.” Steve says in amazement.

“Well, it’s been a few years. I don’t have a mental catalogue of every dick you’ve sucked.” Bucky says, and Steve laughs loudly.

“You should probably go home, Steve.” Bucky tells him a few seconds later.

“I know, but I don’t wanna.” Steve says, whining a little.

“How come?” Bucky asks patiently. Steve’s right, he hasn’t been this drunk in a long time. It’s funny, but he’s also mildly worried about him, in that way he always tries not to worry about Steve.

“I wanna go to yours.” Steve says, interrupting Bucky’s thoughts, and his eyebrows raise in surprise.

“That’s not a good idea.” Bucky says simply. He doesn’t mention that the train’s not even running anymore, because he knows Steve already knows.

“I know, I know. But it was so nice being there last weekend, Buck. It was so nice.” Steve says, still a bit of a whine in his voice, like an irritated toddler. Bucky smirks at the mental image.

“Yeah?” He asks. 

“I miss Brooklyn. I miss you.” Steve says, voice more quiet, and something in Bucky’s gut aches.

“Oh.” He says, and he would feel dumb about how dumb of a response that is, but Steve doesn’t let it slow him down.

“I hadn’t been home in so long.” Steve says. His words are still slurred but his voice isn’t booming and excited anymore, it’s gone hushed like he’s telling Bucky a secret.

The ache in his gut stays put; something about the fact that Steve still calls their shared neighborhood in Brooklyn home makes part of him happy and part of him sad and he doesn’t know which is winning out.

“It’ll always be here.” Bucky says.

“It will?” Steve asks, but it’s not really a question, and it’s not really about Brooklyn.

“Yep. Right here.” He says quietly.

“Waiting for me?” Steve asks. 

Bucky considers making a joke, to brush this moment aside and to lie by omission. But in the end, he figures there’s no real point. 

“Yeah. Waiting for you.” He says instead, and Steve hums quietly. 

“I’m gonna call a cab now.” Steve says.

“Stay on the phone with me til you get home.” Bucky instructs him, and Steve murmurs an agreement.

“What were you up to, anyway?” Steve asks him, wind rustling against the speaker of his phone and filling Bucky’s ear with static.

“Taking a Buzzfeed quiz.” Bucky admits, and Steve laughs.

“What was it?” Steve asks. A car door shuts and Steve pulls away for a minute to tell the driver his address, sounding remarkably put-together for someone who is as drunk as Bucky knows he is.

“Which Taylor Swift song describes your life.” Bucky says, and Steve laughs again.

“You don’t even know any Taylor Swift songs.” 

“I was still interested in the result.” Bucky says defensively.

“Ask me the questions,” Steve says, sounding amused.

Bucky leads him through the quiz, asking his favorite animal, favorite color, which pizza topping best describes him, and a slew of other stock questions.

“You got Shake it Off.” Bucky says, and Steve laughs loudly in his ear.

“Is that the one on the radio?” Bucky asks.

“Who’s the old man now?” Steve asks back.

“You kids and your pop music.” Bucky says just to make Steve laugh again, and it works.

“Okay, I’m in my building.” Steve says. 

“Good.” 

“I’m gonna go to sleep now.” 

“Drink some water.” Bucky tells him.

“Okay.” Steve agrees easily.

“Goodnight,” Bucky says.

“Night, Buck.” Steve says back.

There’s a beat of silence before Steve hangs up, and Bucky exhales loudly, rubbing his eyes with his hands.

He doesn’t have the energy to think about any of it, so he just clicks another stupid Buzzfeed quiz, one called “How will you meet your soulmate?” 

He doesn’t know why this is his hobby, taking only the ones he has no vested interest in. Before the Taylor Swift one it was a quiz to find out which Disney princess he was (he got the girl from Hercules but he didn’t even think she was a real princess). 

His result is “They’re your best friend,” and Bucky lets out a loud peal of desperate laughter before closing the tab, window, and laptop and deciding to go to sleep.

Steve calls him the next morning apologizing for not remembering and asking if he said anything embarrassing. Bucky lies and says yes.

++

The thing is, Bucky thinks while he’s working at the coffee shop in Williamsburg a few days later, the thing is he hasn’t had to confront his Steve bullshit in a while.

It’s been dormant for a long time. He doesn’t remember how long it’s been in his system; maybe since high school, maybe before then.

It’s just always been in the back of his head, like if Steve suddenly decided that he wanted to kiss him, he would be fine with that. Maybe even want to date. (Maybe even more than want to date, but. He doesn’t like to follow the thought for that long.)

And usually, usually when he and Steve see each other the couple nights a week that they do, even sleep in the same bed every couple weeks, he doesn’t have to think about it. Sharing space with Steve comes so easy that he doesn’t have to overthink it, doesn’t have to wonder what it means, if it means anything.

(Because it doesn’t mean anything, because it’s Steve.)

So he sort of forgot what it feels like to spend every second he’s around Steve feeling like he’s pining. To wonder if he kissed Steve, would Steve kiss him back. To wonder how joking the jokes are, the ones about them being a married couple, the ones about them dating. 

He had forgotten, but now, this weird place they’ve gotten to where they’re closer than they have been in a while, where Steve calls him drunk and says he missed being home, where Bucky’s family tells them they’re a beautiful couple, it’s got his heart jammed in his throat more than he usually likes it to be.

And he maintains that it isn’t a big deal, because it isn’t. Because he’s been quietly handling it since he was sixteen (maybe fifteen, maybe fourteen, maybe --) and he plans to continue. But it’s still a little terrible in that self-inflicted way, where he knows that even though this is a fantasy he’s invented, he wonders if there’s a sliver of hope that it’s not unrequited, all this bullshit that he doesn’t want to call love because he doesn’t know what it means in this situation. 

Of course he loves Steve, he’s always loved Steve. He doesn’t know if that means he’s in love with him. When you grow up wrapped around someone else as tight as they did, how can you separate those two things out? 

He remembers being seventeen and getting his fucking lights punched out because he was bailing Steve out of a fight with a guy three times bigger than either of them, waking up ten minutes later with half his face throbbing and the other half feeling numb. He remembers Steve saying in that quiet voice he gets when he’s serious, “Frozen peas.” He remembers feeling delirious and confused and nothing in that moment but full of warmth for the insolent prick standing above him, who just got him beat up because he wanted to make a point about doing the right thing. 

And that’s how he feels now, like half of him is throbbing and the other half is frozen and he’s in too deep with this asshole who won’t wait for ten seconds to think about what outcome would hurt less, regardless if it’s right or wrong. 

And he thinks about holding hands at the wedding shower and he remembers holding hands on rollercoasters when they were 12 and he remembers too goddamn much, because no one tells you that falling unwillingly into whatever the hell this is with your best friend means too much nostalgia, too much sentimentality, too much remembering when.

But he lets himself because he’s already in a bad mood, lets himself think about when they were nineteen and Steve was sitting stone-faced on Bucky’s couch, not moving, not talking, not crying. Just sitting. It was three days after his mom died and Bucky had never, not ever, heard such a loudmouth be quiet for so long. So he grabbed the best blanket, sat down on the couch next to Steve and hung the blanket over both their backs, sat close enough that it was an invitation but far enough that Steve could refuse. He sat there for twenty minutes not saying anything before Steve let himself edge closer, an hour before Steve was leaned into him, two hours before Steve said so quietly that Bucky might have imagined it, “Thank you.” After four hours Steve fell asleep, half-draped over Bucky with his face pressed into Bucky’s neck, so Bucky fell asleep too, too warm under the blanket and under Steve but aware that it was the first sleep Steve had gotten in 48 hours. 

He lets himself fantasize about a reality where he’s half as good as Steve ever was, half as worthwhile and successful and _smart_ , christ, Steve has always been so smart. A reality where he could have gone to NYU with Steve, shared a too-small dorm and had fun instead of working three jobs and being bitter, where Steve’s mom didn’t die and leave him with nothing, where Steve didn’t know people who were so much smarter and more ambitious and amazing than Bucky is. People like Peggy with her confidence and rapier everything, Sam with his loud voice and soft heart, like every friend he ever made without Bucky at his side. A reality where there weren’t a hundred better options for Steve than Bucky Barnes.

And he knows he’s living in the past, and he knows he’s being too dramatic, and he knows this is too depressing of a thought process for ten in the morning while he’s trying to make someone a latte, but it’s been a while since he’s had to think about it, and this is how he wants to think about it.

He’s not angry. He’s not even bitter, not really. He’s bitter about a lot of things sometimes but not this, he’s never been bitter about what he and Steve are.

Because he likes what they are, he likes it more than he likes anything else. But he hasn’t been able to shake the feeling, not for almost half his life, that he’d like them if they were something else, too.

He pulls himself out of his own brooding, gets through his shift, and when he goes home, calls Natasha.

He hits her voicemail after a few rings and hums to himself, almost hanging up before deciding to leave one.

“Hey, Nat. It’s currently 4 PM in Brooklyn and who knows what time in who knows what country you’re in. I don’t even know if you’re using this phone overseas. Oh fuck, I hope this isn’t costing you money. I didn’t think this through. Sorry. I don’t know. I had a weird day and wanted to talk to someone.” He says, with the distinct impression that he’s rambling. 

He gets up to pace around his kitchen while he talks. “I hope you’re doing good. I hope you’re like, bringing down empires, other superspy stuff. Killing rival spies. Taking on your own form of Bond girls. Bond boys? That sounds like your style. Sorry, this is a stupid message. This is really stupid. Sorry. Anyway, I miss you, and I just. I don’t know. Sorry. Have a good night, er--morning? Day. Bye.” 

He hangs up with a sigh and wishes he had other friends, but the truth is that he really doesn’t. And he’s about to go back to brooding like the teenager he apparently is when his phone buzzes in his hand, Natasha’s name displaying on the screen. He smiles.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Natasha greets him with in a tone that’s trying for sarcastic but sounds concerned.

Bucky laughs quietly. “Hi to you too.”

“Are you okay?” She asks, and Bucky hears her exhale, probably cigarette smoke.

“That’s a nasty habit, you know.” He says, to be a smart-ass and to avoid the topic at hand.

“Stop analyzing my breathing, weirdo.” Natasha says.

“I’m fine.” Bucky says finally. “I don’t know. Weird day.”

“You gonna talk about it or did you just call me to be an asshole?” Natasha asks him, always quick to the point.

“First of all, how are you? Where are you? I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Bucky asks.

“I’m pretty good, in Moscow, and no, it’s midnight.” Natasha answers dutifully. “Now what the hell’s wrong?”

“You remember what I told you about Steve, a long time ago?” He asks, running his hand through his hair.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.” Natasha says, and he hears her blow out smoke again.

Bucky sighs indignantly and Natasha snickers at her own joke.

“Is this about how you’re in love with him?” Natasha asks. 

Always quick to the point.

“I--that’s...not how I’d put it.” Bucky says, taken aback.

“Yeah, I know. What happened?” Natasha says, sounding like she thinks the way Bucky would put it is stupid.

“I mean, nothing _happened_.” Bucky says defensively, feeling dumb about the whole thing.

Natasha doesn’t say anything and Bucky can picture her raising an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I’ve just been thinking about it more than usual.” He says finally, and Natasha makes a considering noise.

“Why?” She asks him simply.

“Uh, I. It’s possible he’s pretending to be my date for my sister’s wedding.” Bucky says, wincing at Natasha’s sigh.

“That didn’t seem like a bad idea to you?” She asks him, but it’s laced with concern.

“It wasn’t really planned, I kind of just. Said his name. Anyway, I haven’t had to think about the whole thing in a while and now I am, and it’s just. I don’t know. I just needed to talk to someone. And you’re kind of all I got besides him.” Bucky says, putting all his cards on the table.

“You’re all I got too, Bucky.” She says kindly, and Bucky smiles. “But maybe you _should_ talk to him about it.”

“That hasn’t really presented itself as an option throughout this entire thing, Natasha.” He says, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“Yeah. I know. But maybe there’s a better solution than pining and keeping yourself closed off from anyone else besides him. Maybe it’s time to just ask.” Natasha says.

Bucky sighs long and deep. “I don’t know if I want the question answered, Nat. I don’t know if I’ll like the answer.” 

“Maybe you won’t. But you have to rip the band-aid off sometime, Bucky.” Natasha says.

Bucky swallows. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Natasha says. “I hope you feel better about it, anyway.”

“Me too. Thanks, though. Really.” Bucky says. Because this is what he needed, really. Someone to take him out of his own mental rut, to shake him out of his internal bullshit. 

“Anytime, Bucky.” Natasha says with a smile in her voice. 

They say their goodbyes and Bucky walks into his kitchen, pulling himself up to sit on the counter.

He sighs to himself, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes in an attempt to rub the morning off of him, and decides maybe he should just try to put it out of his mind.

 _Because that’s been going so well,_ a voice in his head says (one that sounds like Natasha’s, and he really doesn’t appreciate that), and he sighs again.

The problem with ripping the band-aid is that the risk and reward aren’t quite in keeping with the metaphor. You rip the band-aid off because even though it’ll hurt, it’ll hurt less than pulling it slowly. 

When you tell your best friend you’re in love with him, it’ll hurt. He doesn’t entertain the thought of a reality where it wouldn’t hurt. He doesn’t entertain the thought of a reality with a reward, a romantic comedy ending, a cinematic kiss. 

If that was going to happen, it would have happened years ago, on any one of the opportunities it’s had throughout their lives. At the end of any of the too-long glances, the mornings after sharing a bed, the dark bedrooms of sleepovers, as a resolve to any of their easy tactile affection. 

So in theory, maybe Natasha’s right. Maybe if he ripped off the band-aid, it’d be hard but it’d end in less heartache. 

But in practice, he’s always had a hard time believing it.

++

“Are you packed yet? Jesus, it’s only a weekend, Rogers.” Bucky whines, sitting on Steve’s couch.

“Shut up, Bucky.” Steve calls from behind his bedroom door, hanging halfway open. Bucky can see him carefully folding clothes and placing them into a duffel bag.

“We’re already late. We were supposed to get there like...now.” Bucky says, glancing at the time on his phone. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve says back.

It takes Steve another twenty minutes to finish packing his bag, all while Bucky makes annoyed huffing noises behind him, and it’s an hour before they’re in the rental car that Bucky picked up that morning.

“You’re an awful driver,” Steve comments from the passenger seat, scrolling through his iPod to pick music.

“Thanks, Steve. That’s helpful.” Bucky says, craning his neck to check the blindspot before merging onto the highway. 

“In my defense, it’s the truth. How long of a drive is it, anyway?” Steve asks, settling into his seat. 

“Couple hours. Hey, set up GPS for me.” Bucky says, keeping his eyes trained in front of him. 

In all honesty, he was kind of a shitty driver. It didn’t help that it’d been years since he drove a car, either; he’d been content on subsisting on public transportation until it became inordinately inconvenient. But Steve was an idiot if he thought he was any better, so it was a moot point. 

“Why the hell are they getting married hours outside of the city?” Steve asks, typing the address into google maps on his phone.

“Something about Daniel’s family having a place up there? I don’t know.” Bucky shrugs. Steve snorts.

“That’s a stupid reason, since the wedding’s at a hotel.” Steve says. He’s still scrolling through his iPod, trying to pick a playlist.

“Just put it on shuffle.” Bucky says, and Steve shrugs. “Anyway, I think they’re having it up there because they had everything else in Brooklyn. Split the load, or something.”

“Which reminds me, is the ceremony Jewish or Christian?” Steve asks. He props his feet up on the dashboard and Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, neither. Secular, actually.” Bucky says, and Steve starts laughing.

“So they’re just pissing off the entire guest list instead of only half of it?” He asks, and Bucky grins.

“Lesser of two evils, I guess.” He offers, and Steve hums in response. 

“You know, I haven’t driven on a highway in a car in like, actual years.” Steve says a few minutes later, and Bucky glances over to grin at him.

“Me either.” Bucky says. 

“You remember that road trip we were supposed to take?” Steve asks, smiling softly. The memory surprises a laugh out of Bucky.

“I do _now_. Jesus, we were so dumb.” Bucky says, and Steve laughs.

“We were supposed to drive to the Grand Canyon, right?” Steve asks, and Bucky glances over again to look at Steve spread out in his seat, smiling wide.

“Yeah.” He says in response, turning his eyes back on the road. The sky above them is grey like it always is in the in-between period of late fall and early winter, and it looks like it might rain.

“Nevermind the fact that both of us barely passed our driving tests and didn’t own cars.” Bucky says a minute later.

“And didn’t even know where the Grand Canyon was.” Steve says.

“It’d still be cool to see it, though.” Bucky says. 

“Yeah. This is gonna sound dumb, but I always wonder if what people talk about with the stars is as amazing as they say.” Steve says.

“What do people talk about with the stars?” Bucky asks, confused.

“You know, how bright they are in like, the country or whatever. Outside big cities.” Steve says with a shrug. Bucky nods in understanding.

“Maybe we should still go.” Bucky says after a pause.

“Maybe. You’re not driving, though.” Steve says back, and Bucky grins.

They used to come up with these plans like they were a conveyor belt whose only purpose was to think up pipe dreams, all the things they wanted to do together, see together. They grew out of it after they stopped having the free time to daydream in, when Bucky was working too much and Steve was balancing eighteen credits and they realized how implausible it all was.

Which is maybe a sad story about youth’s innocence lost or whatever, but in the grand scheme of things, it was the least of their problems.

The roadtrip was always their biggest one, the one they’d always come back to when they were fifteen and whiny. It was escapism in the most literal sense, talking about all the places they wanted to see, how they would roadtrip across the country the summer before college. (Even then, Bucky thought of college as a distant option where for Steve it had always been an assumed certainty; that was another thing Bucky liked to escape from.)

They were fifteen and Steve had a permanent black eye and the same case of bronchitis for two months and Bucky was terrified of the future that was coming at them too fast, the future where they graduated high school and had to do something else. 

So they talked about the Grand Canyon.

In the present, where they are twenty-four and still a little whiny, Steve’s iPod skips between quiet indie songs Bucky’s never heard before to top 40 pop songs. Bucky gives Steve a look when it plays a One Direction song, making Steve go pink and mutter something about Bucky being an elitist.

“You are so dramatic.” Bucky says, but he gestures for Steve to leave the song playing. 

They spend the rest of the drive in relative quiet, Steve pulling out a book and curling in on himself in the passenger seat to read it, Bucky glancing over at him every few minutes to see him laughing along softly with something he’s reading. 

By the time they pull up to the hotel (a really nice one, and Bucky wonders if Daniel’s parents picked up the bill for this one), it’s almost dark, just starting to rain as they walk their bags to the front door. 

“We’re late,” Bucky reminds Steve, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“We’re always late.” He says back, and Bucky can’t really argue with that.

They check in and walk up to their room, too nice with only one bed, before pulling on semi-formal clothes as quickly as they can.

Bucky’s struggling with his tie and Steve looks over as he’s rolling up the sleeves on his button-down shirt and takes pity.

“Stop, here.” He says, stepping in front of Bucky and moving to tie it for him.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, his Adam’s apple bumping against Steve’s hands.

“Mhm.” Steve says. He has one sleeve rolled up and his own tie is askew, his hair still messy from getting wet in the rain.

“You need to fix your hair.” Bucky tells him and Steve huffs a laugh.

“Well you always need to fix your hair, but you don’t hear me nagging you.” Steve says, finishing on Bucky’s tie and going back to rolling up his other sleeve. 

Bucky rolls his eyes but goes to check his hair in the mirror anyway.

++

They make it to the rehearsal just as everyone is going to sit down for dinner, Becca rolling her eyes as they walk up to their seats near the head of the table. 

“You’re late,” she sing-songs under her breath, but she doesn’t sound mad.

“Sorry.” Bucky says, leaning over to hug her. “You look nice.”

She’s in a navy blue dress, pearls around her neck and her dark hair curled. She rolls her eyes again around a smile. “Well, I better. It’s my wedding, after all.” 

“Can’t believe you’re getting married before me.” He says.

“Really? I can. I’ve always been nicer than you. Not to mention better-looking.” Becca says, smirking.

“You’re really milking this, huh?” He asks her, smiling.

“My wedding? Yeah, I’m really milking my wedding.” She says, rolling her eyes. “Go sit down so we can eat, asshole.” 

He grins, hugging her again before he walks off to his seat. Steve’s already sitting, chatting with the groomsman that’s sat next to him. 

Daniel’s father, a tall man with dark hair, stands up to make a toast as they get their food. He kind of tunes out, if he’s honest, taking stock of the room instead. He’s sitting with the other groomsmen, none of whom he’s met but one looks so much like Daniel that Bucky assumes they’re brothers.

Across from him is Becca’s maid of honor, her best friend, a girl with red curly hair and freckles named Jessica that had been running around their house since middle school. She gives Bucky a small wave and smile when she catches him looking. The rest of her bridesmaids he’s less familiar with, a few other friends and a girl who’s obviously Daniel’s sister, looking like she’s about sixteen.

Daniel’s father ends the toast and Bucky clinks his glass with Steve before sipping at his champagne. 

He finds out, over the next few glasses of champagne, that Daniel’s brother is nice enough, if not a bit too loud. The rest of Daniel’s groomsmen are guys he knows from college and high school, all friendly but not overly so. He meets Daniel’s sister, Diana, across the table (the brother’s name is David; Bucky starts to cringe at them being one of _those_ families but he realizes that he and his sister go by Bucky and Becca, so maybe he shouldn’t throw stones). She gives him an awkward laugh after he tries to make a joke and avoids his eye contact.

Bucky gives Steve a confused look, shrugging. Steve rolls his eyes like Bucky’s an idiot. 

“She has a crush on you,” Steve whispers in his ear, and Bucky laughs.

“Why are you so good at reading teenage girls?” Bucky asks, and Steve rolls his eyes again.

“What teenage girl _doesn’t_ have a crush on you?” Steve asks him under his breath, and Bucky snorts.

“Have you been conducting polls?” Bucky asks. 

Steve glares.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that one day.” Bucky says in a warning voice.

“I’ll take my chances.” Steve says back.

They finish eating and everyone begins to migrate away from the table, splitting off into groups in the hotel ballroom to talk. Bucky walks off to find his mom and Steve walks over to talk to Jessica, who he always formed a weird kinship with over both of them always being in the Barnes household but for different people. She hugs him excitedly and Steve grins.

His mom is making small talk with three of his cousins, all a few years older than Bucky. They wave goodbye as Bucky approaches and they leave, and Bucky waves back.

“Hi ma,” He says, going to hug her.

“Oh, James,” She says, sounding watery already. Bucky grins.

“You’ve called me James so much lately, I feel like I’m gonna get grounded.” He jokes, and it makes her laugh. 

(It used to be James when he was in trouble, James Buchanan when he was in _real_ trouble.)

“I like James, that’s why I named you it.” His mother says, reaching out to fix his hair.

“Sorry Bucky stuck so well, then.” He says, giving her a crooked grin. It’s an old conversation, one they’ve had a thousand times, but he thinks that’s what his mom needs the day before her daughter’s wedding.

“Steve’s holding up okay?” His mom asks, looking over at where he’s surrounded by Becca’s bridesmaids, all of them talking animatedly at him while he smiles good-naturedly.

“Girls always love him.” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. 

“You talk about him like he’s a puppy.” His mom chides him.

“Well.” Bucky says, shrugging.

“I know this whole arrangement is for Becca’s sake, but.” His mother starts, before she shakes her head and takes another sip of champagne.

Bucky stiffens. He doesn’t ask her to go on because he doesn’t want her to. 

She seems to realize, changing the subject. “I really do wish his mother was here, you know.”

“He does too.” Bucky says quietly. 

“She was always so nice to Becca.” She continues. She sounds choked up again.

“She was nice to everyone.” Bucky says, because it’s true. He loves his own mom more than anyone in the world, but Sarah Rogers was one of the nicest people he ever met.

His mom sighs, takes another drink. He reaches over to put his hand on her back comfortingly. 

“I’m sorry in advance for crying all weekend.” His mom says, and Bucky laughs.

“I’m sorry in advance for laughing at you.” He says, and his mom swats at him lightly. 

They stand together until one of his great aunts comes over and wants to talk to his mother, which Bucky takes as a cue to leave; no one can talk like his extended family.

A few of his uncles are standing together nearby, but Bucky decides to steer clear of that as well. 

This is the part of big and loud that Steve never understood, really, in his envy: the more people in your family, the less close you are with any of them. Bucky has maybe two cousins he could say he’s friends with, one aunt who really likes him, and an uncle that laughs at his jokes sometimes. With the rest of them, it was so often like pulling teeth being at these family functions, trying to come up with something to talk about.

So he walks over to Steve instead, who’s talking to Becca and Talia, one of their only cousins who’s Becca’s age. Bucky’s always liked her, big blonde curly hair and loud laugh mismatched with her short stature. 

“You know you’ve been surrounded by girls all night?” Bucky says to Steve, stepping into their conversation as Talia turns to say something to Becca.

“You jealous, Buck?” Steve says coyly, and something in Bucky’s stomach jumps. 

He’s seen Steve flirt, he knows what it looks like. And this looks awfully similar.

For a second, it’s a question to himself, what he should do. Whether he should laugh it off or not. But then he figures, if Steve wants a game, Bucky’ll give him a game.

“You know me.” Bucky says, low. He steps further into Steve’s space, smirking slightly. 

Steve’s cheeks go pink, but he hasn’t stepped back, hasn’t given in. 

“I do.” Steve says, putting back on the coy smile.

“Alright, calm down.” Talia says, laughing, and they snap out of it, both grinning awkwardly as they turn to Talia and Becca, who’s raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, Tal.” Bucky greets her, and she hugs him. 

“Hey, stranger. I haven’t seen you in a year.” She says, punching his arm, and he smiles sheepishly. 

Steve gestures that he’s going to get another glass of champagne, and Bucky hands him his glass to fill too. 

It’s four glasses later when the easy-listening jazz that had been playing unexpectedly (and unintentionally, Bucky assumes) switches to the Cha-Cha Slide, and Becca laughs loudly before making a group of people get up and join her. 

“Come on, this is the _real_ rehearsal.” She says, pulling Bucky up from his seat.

Becca’s ditches her heels and earrings, loudly singing along to the song, and Bucky grins at her. He forgets, because she’s probably more mature than he’s ever been, but she’s really just a kid. He never asked why she wanted to get married so young, while she was still in school, because it didn’t matter to him. He just wanted her to be happy. And she looks happy, laughing as she messes up a step.

He looks back over to Steve, who’s laughing at him from his spot at the dinner table. 

“Come on!” He calls, gesturing him over, but Steve shakes his head.

“Hell no.” He responds.

“Come _on_ , Steve.” Bucky says while the song asks him how low he can go. 

“I don’t dance. You know I don’t dance.” Steve insists.

“This isn’t dancing, it’s just following directions.” Bucky says.

“I don’t do that either.” Steve says, laughing.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Bucky says, grinning, and goes back to the dance. 

It’s been a good night, by the end of it. He’s comfortably buzzed on good champagne, his arm hung around Steve’s waist as everyone is drifting out toward their respective rooms. 

They’re standing under a doorway, saying goodnights to Daniel and Becca, who are standing in front of them, when Bucky hears someone say, “Hey, you guys are standing under mistletoe.”

It’s Jessica, Becca’s maid of honor, pointing at the frame of the door where there is indeed, Bucky sees upon looking, mistletoe. Unseasonably early mistletoe, in Bucky’s opinion, since it’s only barely December.

“I’m Jewish, its magic doesn’t work on me.” Bucky says, but Jessica’s announcement reached all the other people standing around them waiting to pass out of the same doorway and they’re all grinning at them.

“Oh, come on, guys.” Talia says, snickering. 

Bucky feels his face heat up, glancing at Steve, who’s also pink.

“Tis the season,” Steve sighs, before he’s standing on his tip-toes and leaning in to kiss Bucky so quickly that Bucky’s brain doesn’t process it.

It’s nothing, as far as kisses go. Chaste and nothing. But Bucky knows he’s even redder now than he was a minute ago as several of his family members “aww” them.

They make their escape quickly after that, neither of them looking at each other as they hurry onto an elevator. 

“Well.” Steve says, voice higher than normal. 

“Yeah.” Bucky says back. He can still feel the blush on his face.

They go quiet again, the elevator dinging every time it passes another floor. It’s awkward, and Bucky wishes it wasn’t. 

He doesn’t let himself dwell on the fact that his heartbeat is still a little quick from a two-second kiss.

They walk to their room, Bucky digging his room key out of his pocket and unlocking the door. They still haven’t said anything else, and Bucky turns his back to Steve as he kicks off his shoes and loosens his tie, getting halfway through the first button on his shirt when Steve steps directly in front of him, looking him dead in the eye.

Bucky can’t read his expression, but he looks determined. Bucky’s about to apologize (for what, he isn’t sure; he just feels like he should apologize for something), his mouth half-open when Steve presses forward, raised on his toes again to kiss Bucky. 

It’s not chaste this time, not a closed-lip peck. It’s messy and a little frantic, Steve’s teeth grazing his lip roughly, making Bucky gasp. Steve gains confidence, bringing his hands up to Bucky’s jaw and walking them backwards until the bed hits the back of Bucky’s knees, knocking them both on top of it. 

Bucky wants to ask a question, ask a _lot_ of questions, but he decides against it, letting Steve keep kissing him instead. Because maybe if he asks any of the things he wants to, this will stop happening, Bucky won’t have Steve’s hands gripping his jaw, his skinny thigh between his own. It’s surreal, almost, like the middle of a dream that Bucky would wake up ashamed for having, and he doesn’t want it to stop.

So he stays quiet, because he wants this, he fucking _wants_ this, and he doesn’t want to know why Steve would instigate it, what his goal is here.

Steve’s hands move down to Bucky’s shirt, pulling aside the tie that’s still hanging there pointlessly and undoing the buttons, thin fingers working quickly against Bucky’s chest.

Bucky’s heart feels like it’s lodged somewhere in his throat as Steve pulls away, propped up on an elbow and looking him in the eye. 

Bucky holds the eye contact but doesn’t say anything, just reaches to help Steve unbutton his shirt, working at the bottom buttons while Steve’s fingers linger at the top. Both of their breathing is ragged, the only sound in the quiet hotel room. 

He feels the arm that Steve’s resting his weight on tremble next to his shoulder and Bucky breaks the moment, rolling them over so that Steve’s on his back.

His shirt’s still got three buttons done but it’s hanging off him haphazardly as he leans over Steve, presses against him to kiss him the way Bucky’s thought about in the sad parts of his imagination for years, slow and rough, his hand coming up to run through Steve’s hair. 

Steve makes a breathy noise when Bucky leans down to kiss his jaw, his back arching involuntarily when Bucky gets to his neck. His tie is still on and his shirt untouched, Bucky realizes, and thinks he should amend that. He loosens the tie, pulling it off, and makes quicker work of Steve’s buttons than Steve had made of his own. Steve shrugs out of the shoulders, pulling his arms out and tossing it across the room.

Bucky looks at Steve again, his hand hovering close to the buckle of Steve’s belt, doesn’t touch it til Steve nods at him, squirming to reach for it himself instead. Bucky goes back to kissing him, can hear the belt come off and feels Steve undo the zip on his own pants, pick up his hips to slide them off. His hand goes up to Bucky’s fly and Bucky’s hips embarrassingly buck at the touch.

He feels Steve smirk against his mouth and Bucky bites his lip in retaliation before Steve gets Bucky’s pants down, his hand grabbing at the meat of Bucky’s hip and pulling him closer to Steve.

He makes a breathy noise at the feeling of their hips being pressed together before he stops kissing Steve, moves down the other side of his neck but doesn’t stay there long before standing up. 

Steve looks up at him in confusion, spread out on his back against the side of the bed in gray boxer-briefs and nothing else, toes still touching the carpet. His face and chest are flushed pink and he looks embarrassed at Bucky looking him up and down, but Bucky doesn’t care. He wants to remember this, wants to remember the sight of Steve on his back like this, hard even though Bucky hasn’t touched him, shirt and pants strewn around him. He looks for another couple seconds til Steve picks himself up on his elbows, opens his mouth to say something. 

Bucky doesn’t know what he was gonna say because he shuts his mouth again as Bucky kicks his pants off his feet and kneels between Steve’s legs, hands covering Steve’s thighs. He’s small enough that his hands can practically wrap around them, and Bucky presses his thumbs on the inside of his thighs, pushing his legs apart. 

Steve inhales sharply when Bucky kisses at his hipbones just above the waistband of his underwear. He can feel the muscles of Steve’s stomach jumping as he kisses over to below his navel, mouths at a spot enough that he knows it’ll leave a mark. 

Steve squirms underneath him, making eager noises and moving to slip his boxers down, but Bucky beats him to it, fingers underneath the waistband. Steve lifts his hips dutifully and Bucky slides them down his legs, moving his hands back up to the sharp planes of Steve’s hipbones.

He kisses up Steve’s thighs, making Steve writhe underneath him again. 

Bucky’s intent on staying slow, making this last, but then Steve looks down at him, whispers in a wrecked voice, “Please, Buck.” 

It’s the first thing either of them have said in half an hour, and it breaks the unnatural silence of the room and it breaks something inside of Bucky, too.

He gets his mouth on Steve’s dick and Steve’s hips push up as he makes a desperate noise. He’s noisy, Bucky learns quickly, all half-moans and sighs in the back of his throat.

He steadies Steve’s hips with one hand but brings the other one down to pull his dick out of his boxers, harder than he can remember being in a long time.

He finds a rhythm where his mouth on Steve and his hand on himself are in sync, and it doesn’t take either of them very long to get close, Steve’s moans getting louder and his own stomach tightening tellingly. He pulls off of Steve just as he comes, getting come on his jaw and the collar of the shirt that he belatedly realizes he’s still wearing. Steve looks down at him, breathing heavy and hair mussed, bottom lip red from where he must have been biting it, and Bucky comes too, further ruining the white button-up shirt. 

Bucky falls forward, cheek resting on Steve’s thigh as he comes down from his orgasm. He feels Steve’s hand card through his hair and sighs in a content way. There’s a dull ache in his knees and he realizes that he still has come on his face but he can’t convince himself to move, until Steve says, “Hey.”

Bucky looks up through his eyelashes, head too heavy to raise it. Steve’s grinning in a small, quiet way. Objectively, he looks like a mess, but Bucky feels a weird pride in his gut for being responsible for it. 

“Hey.” Bucky says back.

“Get off the floor.” Steve tells him, hand still in Bucky’s hair. 

“Sure.” Bucky says, pulling himself to his feet and sitting down next to Steve on the bed. 

Steve looks him over for a minute before furrowing his eyebrows, standing up and walking to the bathroom. He comes back with a wet washcloth, sits down next to Bucky and wipes his face off. He unbuttons the last few buttons of Bucky’s shirt and pushes it off of his shoulders, tossing it on the floor next to his own. He wipes Bucky’s stomach off, the mess that’s left there, and motions for him to take his boxers off. Bucky kicks them onto the floor, on top of the growing clothing pile, and Steve looks content. 

He brushes Bucky’s hair back from his face, leans in and kisses him once, softly.

“We gonna talk about this?” Steve whispers, his face still close to Bucky’s.

“No.” Bucky says.

Because he doesn’t know what this is, but he knows it can’t be what he wants. The romantic comedy ending has never been in his future, and nothing has changed. In the back of his mind, there’s a voice repeatedly telling him not to get used to this, not to get used to this, not to get used to this. And he won’t. But he just wants one night before it gets ruined. He wants one night where they don’t talk about it.

Steve looks at him for a minute, unreadable again. “Okay.”

“Let’s go to sleep.” Bucky says, laying back against the bed and wriggling under the covers.

“Yeah.” Steve says back, switching off the light on the bedside table. “Okay.”

He lies on his back like he always does, and Steve lies on his stomach like he always does, close enough for Bucky to feel the heat of him. The full wave of his exhaustion hits him all at once, and in a rare miracle, he falls asleep faster than he can remember.

++

Bucky wakes up too warm, and as he goes to push the covers off of him he realizes it’s not because of the covers, it’s because Steve is on top of him. Which, in and of itself, wouldn’t be that alarming, except that they’re both naked. 

Bucky lets the night before wash over him and he sighs, hoping he’s quiet enough that it doesn’t wake up Steve. 

The situation is almost comical, Bucky thinks bitterly. The fact that he’s laying here fucked up over Steve with Steve literally naked on top of him. He wishes he could pursue his usual course of action, which is violently ignoring the problem, but the problem is currently _literally naked on top of him_.

He fights the urge to laugh out of desperation, and Steve makes a soft noise, burrows further into Bucky’s neck. It makes Bucky’s heart hurt, and god, he’s fucked. Absolutely fucked.

Bucky’s just considering ways to get out of this bed without waking up Steve when Steve, of course, wakes up. Bucky closes his eyes, breathing slower so Steve will still think he’s asleep, and he feels pathetic. 

He feels Steve roll off of him gently, mutter “shit” under his breath. The mattress shifts as he carefully gets up, muttering “shit, shit shit,” to himself and from the sound of it, pacing the floor.

Bucky knows the feeling.

It’s another five minutes of Steve absentmindedly cursing to himself before he hears drawers opening, Steve getting dressed.

“Hey,” Steve says, reaching over and laying his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Buck. Wake up.” 

He lets Steve jostle him a couple times before blearily opening his eyes and hoping it looks convincing.

“Gotta get ready.” Steve says, pointing at the alarm clock. The ceremony is at noon and it’s -- shit -- 11:30. 

“Fuck.” Bucky says, rubbing his eyes.

“Yep.” Steve replies.

He gets up, stepping around the pile of their discarded clothes and into his tuxedo as quickly as possible. 

The room is silent, but it feels off, not their usual comfortable quiet. It takes him ten minutes to realize that for the first time in Bucky’s recent memory between him and Steve, it’s tense. And the thought makes him nauseous, that something happened to make them feel awkward around each other like this. 

Steve’s avoiding his eye and it feels like a punch to the gut, and he’s stupidly overwhelmed by the urge to find somewhere to cry. 

Because he finally did it, he finally fucked this up in the worst way, the way that was always looming somewhere in the background as a warning. 

He fumbles with his bowtie, cursing under his breath.

“Hey,” Steve says, stepping in front of him. “You want help?”

“I -- yeah.” Bucky answers. Steve’s still not looking him in the eye as he loops Bucky’s bowtie carefully.

“Why are you so good at tying other peoples’ ties?” Bucky asks, trying to keep his tone light.

“I taught myself.” Steve shrugs, straightening it once he finishes.

“Thanks.” Bucky says, and Steve nods. 

Steve’s dressed in a gray suit, the nice one he’s been saving for the wedding, and he looks too good. It’s tailored well and his hair is slicked back neatly, his sharp bone structure emphasized more than usual. Bucky feels a familiar pang of want before remembering that he’s _had_ now, doesn’t get to want anymore because having once has already fucked up enough. 

“Do I look dashing?” Bucky asks after he puts on his shoes. His tone is forced and he knows it, and he hates the fact that he can’t stop trying. 

“Debonair, even.” Steve says, giving him a tight grin. Still no eye contact. Bucky’s stomach hurts.

But it’s 11:45 and he has to go meet with the other groomsmen and _not_ think about how he finally ruined the only relationship that’s ever mattered to him this much.

“Gotta go. See you later.” He says over his shoulder to Steve before practically running out the door and toward the elevator.

His mind is somewhere else as he greets Daniel’s brother, the best man, and gets told where to stand and when to walk. This is what he gets for missing the rehearsal ceremony, he figures. He gets paired up to walk with Daniel’s sister, the sixteen-year-old, and when he offers his arm for her to link hers through, she blushes.

He grins at her, remembering Steve telling him that she has a crush on him. He’s making cruel jokes at his own expense in his head, self-pitying bullshit that doesn’t do him any good.

But this isn’t about him, he reminds himself when Becca walks into the room behind them, adjusting her veil. Their mom is walking behind her, looking on the verge of tears, and Bucky lets his false grin slip into a real, genuine smile. He slips out from the procession of bridesmaids and groomsmen, someone making an annoyed noise at him.

“Bec.” He says simply, smiling at her, and she smiles back at him.

He doesn’t say anything else, just moves in to hug her tight.

“Don’t mess up my makeup.” She says, voice sounding shaky, and Bucky laughs.

“Love you, kid.” He says, and she smiles against his neck.

“Okay, shut up and go stand where you’re supposed to.” She instructs him, trying to sound serious, and Bucky salutes her, rejoining his spot in line.

The music starts up, not the wedding march but something with strings that sounds pretty, and the best man and maid of honor walk out, the rest of them following in pairs and splitting off to stand on their respective sides. 

Becca walks out, their mom walking down the aisle with her, and it makes everyone go quiet. He watches Daniel go from a nervous expression to a smile too big to be fake and it hits him in a way he didn’t expect, his chest tight. It makes him feel guilty to look away from his sister but he does, finds Steve’s face near the aisle a few rows back. 

Steve’s not looking at him, smiling faintly at Becca instead, and it makes the knot that’s been in his stomach since he woke up tighten. 

The ceremony is nice, Bucky thinks. They wrote their own vows and they’re earnest and emotional enough to make Bucky’s eyes water, even if he’ll deny it later.

It’d been a while since he had been at a wedding, and he’s surprised by how short the actual ceremony feels. For all the build-up over the last few months, it’s over much sooner than he expected. 

He’s pulled off to take pictures, of the wedding party, the extended family, the close family, and finally just him, Becca, and their mom, who’s been in tears for most of the afternoon. His face is numb from smiling for two hundred pictures, and he finally gets a reprieve when the photographer announces that he just wants the groom’s family for one. Becca turns to him, smiling broadly.

He smiles back, reaching out to hug her again, and his mom joins them, still a few tears escaping her. 

“I’m so happy for you, Bec.” Bucky says, and he feels her exhale deeply against him, like she’d been holding in a breath for an hour. 

“Thanks.” She says, still smiling as she pulls away. “Me too.” 

++

He ends up on the opposite side of the room from Steve when the reception begins. Becca and Daniel have their first dance to “At Last,” looking ecstatic, and it hits Bucky’s chest the same way Daniel’s smile did earlier. 

He takes a minute to consider how pathetic he is, before deciding to go all in with it and glance over at Steve. He’s smiling easily with one of Bucky’s cousins and not decidedly not looking over at Bucky, and Bucky doesn’t know what he expected. 

Moreso, he doesn’t know what he _expects_. He doesn’t know what they are anymore, and it scares the shit out of him. 

So he pursues his usual course of action, avoidance, with incredible commitment. He makes conversation with every family member he usually avoids, dances with every little cousin who wants to stand on his feet, talks about work with his much more successful family members (a low form of torture). He keeps himself busy enough to not have a chance to mope, to overthink, to stare at Steve across the room like a pining idiot. 

Of course, then the DJ announces for all the couples to gather on the dancefloor, to bring the new couple good luck. 

Bucky’s set on ignoring it until the aunt he’s talking to about her grandchildren looks expectantly between him and something behind him, over his shoulder. He turns to see Steve, who looks like he only ended up in Bucky’s proximity by accident. 

It’s only after three more relatives look at them with expectant grins that he smiles tightly, walks over to Steve. 

“I don’t dance.” Steve says, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Doesn’t seem like that’s much of an option right now.” He mutters, and they walk onto the dance floor together.

It’s a slow Sinatra song, and the couples around them are already dancing, wrapped around each other and smiling brightly. 

His heart is pounding nervously as they join hands and he slips his other hand onto the small of Steve’s back. 

They move with the music, albeit somewhat awkwardly. Steve keeps stepping on his feet and cursing under his breath, and Bucky is painfully aware of the way his hand is placed on Steve’s body. 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky says after thirty seconds of silence, and Steve looks up at him in surprise. 

“What?” Steve asks quietly.

“I’m sorry. About last night.” Bucky says. He swallows nervously. What does Steve mean, what? What the fuck else would he be talking about?

“What do you mean, you’re sorry? I kissed _you_. Twice.” Steve says, eyes darting back down like he’s ashamed.

“I -- yeah. I know. But.” Bucky says, because this was still his fault. 

They’re quiet again, their dancing a little less awkward with time. 

“Can I ask you a question, Buck?” Steve asks, looks up at him again, and Bucky nods.

“How much of this is real?” Steve asks. His tone is quiet but there’s something sharp in it, something defensive.

Bucky gives a low, humorless laugh. “You don’t want me to answer that question, Rogers.” 

“You know, I really fucking do.” Steve says, eyes narrowed up at him. It’s the face Bucky’s seen Steve give a countless list of assholes, pure defiance.

“We gonna do this here?” Bucky asks. His hand is shaking on Steve’s back.

“We gotta do it somewhere, don’t we?” Steve asks him.

The song ends, but they stay put. It shifts into another slow dance song, and they dance along with it, still just looking at each other.

“It’s all real for me, Steve.” Bucky says. “All of it.” 

He’s ripped the band-aid and his skin prickles from the raw pain of it, the reality of a ten-year truth unearthed.

Steve’s face is expressionless, and Bucky thinks maybe he’s going to punch him on this dancefloor, in front of his entire family. 

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Steve says under his breath, before pressing forward and kissing him.

Someone catcalls them from the side of the dancefloor, but it doesn’t phase him.

Bucky blinks, confused. “Why am I an idiot again?” He asks as Steve pulls back.

“You want a full list?” Steve asks.

“Don’t fuck with me, Steve.” Bucky says firmly.

“This is why you’re an idiot, Bucky. After all this bullshit, you think I’m fucking with you. After I came up to you in a hotel room and jumped your bones, you come up apologizing. You avoid me all day, got me thinking I took advantage of a situation, that this is all a joke for you.” Steve says, voice sounding angry.

“A joke?” Bucky asks, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, Buck. A joke. A fun joke where you mess around with your friends but it doesn’t mean anything to you, when it means --” Steve cuts himself off, breathing deep and closing his eyes for a second. “It means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me too, Steve.” Bucky says quietly, and Steve looks at him, jaw still set but face softer.

“So just be honest with me for a minute. Stop trying to run away from me and just fucking talk to me.” Steve says. It comes out almost desperate and Bucky feels a stab of guilt.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Bucky says, because that’s as honest as it gets. 

“Yeah?” Steve asks, almost a whisper. 

“Yeah.” Bucky says, swallowing again. 

“How long?” Steve asks him, and Bucky laughs another fake laugh.

“You really wanna know?” He asks.

“Cards on the table, Barnes.” Steve says. Bucky sighs, steeling himself.

“Years.” He says simply, and Steve lets out a breath before laughing quietly. 

“It would be great if you weren’t laughing right now.” Bucky says, and Steve shakes his head.

“I’m being serious, nightmare fodder.” He says. He’s blushing and his ears are ringing, but he feels like someone just lifted an anvil that had been sitting on his chest for so long that he stopped noticing it. And Steve is laughing. 

“What’s it gonna take for me to convince you that we’re on the same page, Buck?” Steve asks, looking up at him like this is the simplest thing in the world.

“You’re too good for me, Stevie. You know that, don’t you?” Bucky asks, smiling sadly. Somewhere in the back of his head, he’s reminding himself that this doesn’t end happily, the romantic comedy ending has never been in his future.

“Christ, Buck. I’m a fucking mess, I always have been. You should know. And maybe you’re a mess too, but we’re all fucking messes anyway, so what’s it matter?” Steve asks him. “Just let yourself have this, for once. Stop trying to get out of a good thing and just let yourself have this. Because I’d really like it if you did.” 

“Okay.” Bucky says, hesitantly, and Steve grins at him, small and still a little sad. 

“You gotta know you deserve every good thing that comes your way, and I want to be one of them.” Steve says, leaning in closer to him, and Bucky swallows, letting himself smile back at Steve.

“I want that too.” He says.

There are other couples dancing around them; the song’s changed three times since they stepped out here, an upbeat pop thing now, but they’re still slow dancing on the edge. 

If last night was surreal, this is a full step into an alternate reality, and Bucky’s head is swimming.

 _He loves you_ , he tells himself, and the full force of it hits him. He grins, full and real, and Steve grins back at him.

“Now kiss me, you moron.” Steve tells him, and Bucky dutifully follows orders.

++

The rest of the reception is a blur in Bucky’s memory, if he’s being honest. There’s some drinks, and then a lot of embarrassing dancing. He distinctly remembers doing the hustle, which is mortifying. He also remembers his sister, a little tipsy and still in her wedding gown, hugging him tighter than she has in years, whispering, “I’m so happy for you,” in his ear, looking pointedly at Steve.

“It’s your wedding, Becca.” He says to her, and she giggles.

“I can be happy for both of us.” She insists, kissing his cheek before going back to dancing.

He remembers Steve, looking at him all night in a way that made Bucky nervous. He remembers Steve’s arm around his waist, hand on his hip, side pressed to his, fingers latched onto Bucky in whatever way he could manage while they talked, drank, danced. Like he couldn’t stop himself.

Bucky knew the feeling. Knows the feeling, as the reception ends and he has his hands on Steve’s hips, steering them back toward their hotel room. 

They’re kissing as soon as the elevator door shuts, Bucky’s hands gripping Steve’s hips and pushing them against the back wall. The elevator announces their floor and they step away from each other, lips shiny and red as they share matching grins, small and slightly disbelieving.

Steve pulls him by the arm off the elevator, and his laughter echoes down the hallway, sounding lighter than air. He feels like a kid, letting Steve tug him along and press him into the door of their room, kissing him like he can’t wait until it’s open. 

They’re not even drunk, just giddy, and it feels so good. It feels so good to not be weighed down by the weight of his own worry and bullshit internal conflict, to just let himself enjoy something.

Steve’s kissing his neck, and Bucky manages, “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” as he digs the room key out of his pocket and unlocks the door. 

Steve’s laughing again in between pressing kisses to Bucky’s neck while they unbutton each others’ shirts, and it’s like the night before except that it’s nothing like the night before. The stony weight is gone, the tense silence that neither of them wanted to break, and it’s replaced with something bright and good that makes Bucky ache in the best way.

“This is so much fun, Buck.” Steve says as he undoes Bucky’s bowtie, the one he tied himself that morning. “I can’t believe we waited ten years to do this.” 

“You’re telling me.” Bucky says, pulling his undershirt over his head and undoing his pants while Steve does the same. 

“You’re so gorgeous, christ.” Steve mutters, leaning up to catch Bucky’s mouth in a kiss again. He wraps his arms around the back of Bucky’s neck, pressed flat against Bucky’s torso. 

He wonders for a second if he could pick Steve up, so he tries. He puts his hands under Steve’s thighs and lifts them until Steve’s wrapped around him completely. He walks them over to the bed and falls onto his back, lets Steve climb over him, the two of them pressed together with Steve’s legs slotted clumsily between his own . 

They kiss sweet and slow and hot, Steve’s tongue in his mouth and hands on his sides, fingers splayed against his ribcage. 

And he thinks this is maybe the best moment of his life, on this expensive hotel bed with Steve pressed against him, kissing him like it’s the most urgent thing. 

They kiss long enough that when they part they’re out of breath, panting in sync with each other. 

“Oh god, I love you.” Bucky says, because it’s overwhelming and it’s all-encompassing and it feels so fucking good to say it out loud, after almost a decade of not even being able to say it in his head. 

Steve smiles, eyes closed, presses an errant kiss to Bucky’s neck. 

And it’s quiet for a minute, both of them catching their breath, until Steve says quietly, “I want to fuck you.” 

Bucky’s dick twitches, and from the way Steve laughs, he guesses that he felt it. 

“Yeah?” He asks, as Steve’s hands go to peel down the waistband of Bucky’s boxers.

“Yeah.” Steve says, smirking and then kissing him again. He gets up and Bucky makes a noise, but Steve just laughs before disappearing into his bag for a minute.

He comes back with lube and a condom, and Bucky snickers. “Jesus, what were you expecting this weekend?”

Steve goes pink, muttering, “I’m a big believer in being prepared.”

“Who were you gonna fuck at this wedding?” Bucky asks, still laughing.

“The whole point is that you never know.” Steve says defensively.

“Do you just literally always have condoms and lube with you?” Bucky asks. 

“Oh my god, will you shut up and take your clothes off so I can fuck you.” Steve says, rolling his eyes as he steps out of his boxers.

"I don't know, will I?" Bucky asks, smirking as he lifts his hips to pull his own boxers down. 

"You are the most annoying person in the world." Steve says before he's back on top of him, biting his lip as he kisses him. 

He moves down to Bucky's neck, and he must notice the noise Bucky makes when he grazes the skin with his teeth, because now he keeps doing it. 

"That's gonna leave a mark." Steve pulls back to say, sounding apologetic. 

"Good." Bucky says, squirming to find friction against his hard-on. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at him, a smile playing at his lips, before going back to kissing the column of Bucky’s throat, biting across his collarbones.

Bucky thinks about Steve’s teethmarks on his skin and makes a content noise. It’s never been his thing before, really, but he wants the marks. He wants that sign of ownership. 

His eyes are closed as Steve kisses down his skin but they open in surprise and he makes a probably-embarrassing noise as Steve unexpectedly puts the head of Bucky’s cock in his mouth. 

He picks himself up onto his elbows so he can look down, because he wants the sight of Steve’s hair falling into his face as he licks up the underside of Bucky’s dick burned into his brain forever. He looks up at Bucky through his eyelashes, corner of his mouth turned up, and Bucky swallows loudly. 

“Hand me that, would you?” Steve asks, pointing to the bottle of lube next to Bucky’s arm. 

Bucky does so wordlessly, still watching Steve between his legs. He uncaps the bottle and slicks up three of his fingers, looking back up at Bucky as he nudges his legs further apart.

Bucky bites his lip in anticipation and his head tips back when Steve puts his first finger in, gives Bucky a minute to adjust while he licks at Bucky’s cock just enough to tease him. 

After he adds a second one he starts thrusting, slow and in a steady rhythm. Bucky bares down, itching for more, more anything.

“Eager.” Steve comments, and Bucky feels his breath on his dick

“Shut up.” Bucky says, voice coming out breathy, and Steve laughs again. 

It’s a few more agonizing minutes of teasing before Steve adds his third finger, still going slower than Bucky wants him to. But then Steve takes Bucky in his mouth fully, and Bucky makes another choked moaning noise. 

“You’re gonna make me come before you’re even inside me.” Bucky says. He sounds about as desperate as he feels, and Steve pulls off of his cock, laughing again. 

“Stop laughing, you’re so full of yourself.” Bucky says, voice cracking as Steve’s fingers almost brush his prostate. 

“Stop _whining_ , god.” Steve says, but he’s grinning as he pulls his fingers out of Bucky to lean up and kiss him. 

Steve’s hand goes past Bucky’s arm, reaching for the condom, Bucky realizes. He hears the wrapper open and then Steve pulls away to slip it on, kneeling between Bucky’s thighs and slicking himself up.

Steve scoots forward, lining himself up, and Bucky lifts his hips, wrapping his legs around to Steve’s back as he presses into Bucky and leans forward so their chests are pressed together. 

“Oh, fuck,” Steve manages once he bottoms out, sounding overwhelmed, and Bucky manages a breathy laugh as he gets used to the feeling of Steve inside him.

It’s been a while since he’s gotten fucked and he remembers now why he likes it so much, how good it feels to be this full. 

He finds Steve’s lips with his own, reaching his hands up to cup his jaw and kiss him while Steve lets Bucky adjust.

“You good?” Steve asks him in almost a whisper, and Bucky nods

Steve thrusts slow and shallow at first, kissing Bucky deeply. Between Steve inside of him and the drag of friction on his dick trapped between them every time Steve moves, Bucky feels like he’s on fire from it all.

Their kisses turn into open-mouth panting as Steve speeds up and starts going harder, Bucky’s back arching and pants turning into whimpers when Steve starts hitting his prostate on every thrust. 

Bucky goes to reach for his own hard-on, desperate to be touched, but Steve stops him, goes for it himself. He strokes Bucky in time with his thrusts and Bucky’s body feels like it’s falling apart in the best way. 

He’s close enough to coming that he loses all semblance of control over the sounds he’s making, and he feels like he should be embarrassed, but he can’t even begin to care. He forces his eyes open to watch Steve, sweat-damp hair falling into his face and obscuring his furrowed brows, whole face looking concentrated as he works at making Bucky lose his goddamn mind. 

“Gonna -- come.” Bucky gasps a few minutes later, and Steve doesn’t break his rhythm as he leans down and kisses Bucky’s bottom lip where his mouth is hung open, licks into Bucky’s mouth as the pressure inside of Bucky’s body mounts, the force of his orgasm making him go stiff for a minute.

He catches his breath as Steve thrusts into him quick and rough, moaning in the back of his throat. Bucky watches him fall apart, brushes the hair out of his face just as he comes, uttering a cut-off “God, Buck,” before falling down on top of Bucky, panting into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“Goddamn.” Steve murmurs, and Bucky laughs softly, his brain still wading through post-orgasm haze.

He pulls out of Bucky carefully, padding over to throw the condom in the trash, and Bucky wipes the come off of his stomach with the sheets underneath him. He hears Steve go into the bathroom, run the faucet to wash his hands and face, and Bucky grins. Of course Steve cleans up after sex, whereas he barely has the energy to think properly, too spent to even move. 

Bucky watches Steve turn the lightswitch off and walk back over to the bed, grins up at him lazily. Steve grins back, crawling back onto the bed next to Bucky, leaning over to kiss him softly. 

“I like you like this.” Steve says, running his hand through Bucky’s hair and scratching at his scalp gently.

“You fucked me into a stupor, Rogers, what can I say.” He says, and Steve laughs. 

“I’ll take it as a compliment.” Steve says.

“Oh, please do.” Bucky agrees, rolling over and slinging his arm around Steve’s middle.

“Love you.” Steve says quietly near Bucky’s ear, and Bucky grins again.

“Love you too.” He mutters, before closing his eyes and falling asleep within seconds.

He wakes up too early the next morning from the sun getting in his eyes. He finds himself mostly on top of Steve, who’s making small sleepy noises in Bucky’s ear, and his heart feels full enough to burst. He thinks about how smug Natasha will be about all of this and he grins to himself before falling back asleep.

++ 

Natasha is smug. Sam is unsurprised. Bucky’s mom cries a little while Bucky rolls his eyes at her. 

++

They spend a couple weeks worrying about figuring out how to be a couple, before they realize they’ve known for a long time.

++

The last night of Hanukkah falls on Christmas Eve, and they spend it at Bucky’s grandparents’ house, where Steve is force-fed at least a dozen latkes and completely conned out of all his chocolate gelt in a dreidel game that he’s pretty sure his little cousins fixed. 

Bucky recites blessings in rusty Hebrew with everyone else, too many family members crowded around while his grandma lights the last candle on the menorah with a slightly shaky hand. Steve grins at him fondly and Bucky pretends not to notice. The little kids cheer happily and the adults get slightly too drunk to drive home and argue over who gets a ride home with who.

“Merry almost Christmas.” Bucky says to Steve as they walk into Bucky’s apartment, just past eleven. 

“Thank you.” Steve says, grinning at him as he shrugs his coat off, shaking the snow from his hair. 

“You want your present now or tomorrow?” Bucky asks, hands on Steve’s waist, and Steve sighs.

“We weren’t doing presents, I thought.” Steve says, walking over and sitting down on Bucky’s couch.

“Yeah, but I knew you’d get me one anyway.” Bucky says, shrugging. “Was I right?”

Steve pouts. “Yes.”

“There we go.” Bucky says.

“Alright, fine. I’m giving you mine _first_ , though, asshole. It’s still Hanukkah.” Steve says, getting up to rummage around under Bucky’s kitchen counter.

“Did you hide my present in my own house?” Bucky asks.

“It was a test to see how unobservant you are. Answer: very.” Steve says, smirking as he tosses Bucky a box wrapped neatly with blue paper printed with white snowflakes.

“You’re the worst.” Bucky says, throwing his own present at Steve. It looks like shit, paper crooked and too much tape, and Steve laughs loudly. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky says, rolling his eyes as he sits down and starts to unwrap his gift. 

“Oh, Stevie.” Bucky says, taking the top off of the box inside. “You really shouldn’t have.”

He holds up the gift, a lumpy blue sweater with large snowmen on skis crocheted on the front, black pom poms for eyes and 3D carrot buttons for their noses. Steve’s eyes are watering from his laughter as Bucky turns it over and realizes there are more on the back.

“It’s blue and white. For Hanukkah.” Steve says through gasps of laughter. 

“It’s so beautiful.” Bucky says, putting on his best act. He folds it back up carefully and looks at Steve with anticipation, waiting for him to open his.

Steve rips through the clumsy wrapping paper and starts laughing again at the inside of the package, a bright red cardigan trimmed with green, displaying a huge embroidered teddy bear under a Christmas tree. 

“It’s red and green. For Christmas.” Bucky says in an earnest voice, and Steve’s wiping his eyes. 

They both wear them the next day for Christmas dinner at Sam and Steve’s, where Sam cooks a chicken and Steve makes an apple pie and they watch Home Alone because it’s on TV. 

All in all, Bucky thinks with Steve’s cold feet shoved under his legs on the couch and hot chocolate that Sam made him in his hands, it’s a good night. 

++

Steve gets his annual winter flu in the middle of January, passing the news onto Bucky via a text that’s just fourteen sick emojis in a row.

Bucky calls off work for the rest of the night and packs a bag full of the essentials: several bottles of cold medicine, a full box of lemon tea, and his flash drive with every animated movie that Steve has made him download in the past seven years, most of which are still unwatched. He even stops at the deli that has Steve’s favorite soup, and he’s very proud of himself for not spilling any on the subway. 

“Hi.” Steve greets him through a stuffy nose after Sam lets him in and he makes his way to Steve’s room. He’s curled up on his bed, looking up at Bucky pathetically from underneath his blanket.

“Hey.” Bucky says with a sympathetic grin, sitting down on the edge of Steve’s bed. He reaches out to push the hair off of Steve’s face, feels the fever radiating from his forehead. “I brought you soup.”

“Not hungry.” Steve says, leaning into Bucky’s touch. 

“Eat it anyway.” Bucky says, setting the styrofoam container down on Steve’s bedside table and his bag down at his feet. “I brought movies too.”

“What’d you bring?” Steve asks, looking interested as he picks himself up and takes the top off the soup.

He brandishes the flash drive and Steve grins, recognizing it and reaching for his laptop. 

Bucky kicks his shoes off and settles back against Steve’s headboard.

“I’m gonna get you sick.” Steve says, but he leans back against Bucky’s chest anyway.

“We’ll see.” Bucky says, smiling as Steve makes himself comfortable against Bucky, scrolling through the contents of the flash drive.

“What have you still not seen?” Steve asks, then realizes it’s a hopeless question when Bucky smiles apologetically. 

“Fine. Then you don’t get any say.” Steve says, rolling his eyes and double-clicking something with the word “dragons” in the title. 

Steve gets halfway through the soup before setting it down again and Bucky counts it as a win. He falls asleep against Bucky’s chest halfway through the movie, and when his cough wakes him up again near the end, he squints up at Bucky in confusion.

“Are...you crying?” Steve asks, and Bucky rubs at his eyes sullenly.

“No. Shut up.”

“Did _How to Train Your Dragon_ make you cry?” Steve asks, voice still sleepy but sounding amused.

“Leave me alone, Steve.” Bucky grumbles. 

“This is hilarious.” Steve says weakly, rolling over to dig through Bucky’s bag and coming back out with the cough syrup.

“This movie is _sad_.” Bucky says defensively as Steve takes a swig of cough syrup without measuring it out.

“It’s for children, Bucky.” Steve says.

“I bet those children are sad.” Bucky says, and Steve snorts. Or, tries to, and then seems to remember how stuffed up he is. 

“You gonna stay the night?” Steve asks, getting up to take off the sweatshirt he was wearing. 

“If you want me to.” Bucky says, cleaning up the mess of cough drop wrappers on Steve’s bed while the credits roll on the movie.

“Yes, please.” Steve says in a small voice, getting under the covers.

Bucky grins, getting up to take his jeans and sweater off. He realizes Steve is watching him undress, and he laughs.

“Is this doing it for you, me folding these jeans?” Bucky asks, and Steve laughs hoarsely. 

“Yeah, now turn my humidifier on.” Steve tells him. “Sexy.” 

“Too sexy, almost. Like, I gotta stop before I get out of control and do something totally wild, like put extra cold medicine on your side table for you.” Bucky says. 

“Don’t tease me like that, Buck. I’m getting too worked up.” Steve says, giving another laugh that turns into coughs. 

Bucky laughs too, getting into Steve’s bed and spooning up against his back, arm wrapped around his middle.

“Thank you.” Steve says, voice soft.

“Mhm.” Bucky replies, kissing the nape of Steve’s neck and making him shiver.

He wakes up early the next morning with Steve sweating and drooling on him, and he wonders when he stopped finding this gross, if he ever did. 

He pads into the kitchen, calling off sick to his morning shift because it’s close enough to the truth anyway, and makes Steve a cup of tea for when he wakes up. 

“How is he?” Sam asks from the other side of the kitchen, making Bucky jump. 

“He’s okay. Same as always.” Bucky says, shrugging. Sam’s seen Steve through countless colds and viruses in the last five years, knows how it usually goes.

Sam nods, looking at Bucky funny.

“What?” Bucky asks, leaning back against the counter.

“Nothing. Just glad he’s got you.” Sam says, and Bucky feels his expression soften.

“You two are good together, you know? For all the shit I give you.” Sam says, smiling like he’s not really sorry he gives them shit.

“Don’t worry, I’ve always known you love me.” Bucky says, smirking.

“Uh-huh.” Sam says with a wry smile before walking over to the fridge and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. 

Bucky grabs the mug of tea he made, heading back toward Steve’s room, but he turns around before leaving.

“Thanks, Sam.” Bucky says, and Sam grins in response.

Steve is awake when Bucky walks back in, on the phone and telling someone on the other line that he’s working from home. He sounds embarrassed about it, and Bucky frowns, setting down the mug on Steve’s bedside table. 

“Thanks,” Steve tells him in a rough voice once he’s off the phone, and Bucky nods.

“It’s not your fault you’re sick, you know.” He says carefully, and Steve sighs into his mug, making steam rise up against his face.

“Course it’s not. Just, when you’re _always_ sick, you start feeling like you got something to apologize for.” Steve says quietly, and Bucky frowns again. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.” Steve says, looking at Bucky’s face. “It just gets old sometimes.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything about yourself to me.” Bucky says, hoping it’s a reminder that Steve doesn’t need, and Steve grins at him. 

“Thanks, Buck.” He says, finishing his tea and laying with his head in Bucky’s lap.

“How do you feel?” Bucky asks him, smoothing his hair back.

“Like shit.” Steve replies, eyes closed but grinning small like he told a joke.

“You should take a shower.” Bucky suggests, and Steve laughs.

“You trying to tell me I smell?” Steve asks.

“I meant ‘cause the steam will make you feel better. But yeah, you probably do.” He says, and Steve grins.

“I’m too tired.” Steve says, and Bucky keeps running his hands through Steve’s hair. 

“Take a bath, then.” Bucky says.

“Take one with me.” Steve says, and Bucky smirks.

“Don’t gotta ask me twice, Rogers.” Bucky says, making Steve laugh quietly.

“You’re right, I feel better.” Steve says when they’re laying in the water, voice still hoarse but sounding less stuffed up. 

“Good. C’mere.” Bucky says, nudging Steve’s face so he turns around.

“I’ll get you sick.” Steve says warningly, but he turns over anyway.

“You won’t.” Bucky says, kissing him deeply.

(Bucky ends up getting sick a week later; he maintains that it was worth it.)

++

“You’re gonna break the yolks.” Steve says from behind his newspaper, and Bucky turns around to roll his eyes at him.

“I’m not.” He says. Steve turns a page of the Times in response.

“I’m _not_.” Bucky repeats.

Steve lowers the paper and raises an eyebrow at him. “You _always_ break the yolks.” 

“Yeah? Well you _always_ criticise my cooking, but I don’t see your lazy ass jumping up to make breakfast.” Bucky says, and Steve gives him a wordless half-grin, going back to his paper.

He turns back to the eggs he’s frying sunny-side up, grabbing the spatula off the counter to flip them. 

“Shit.” Bucky mutters, as the yolks break.

“Told you.” Steve says. 

“Oh, shut up.” Bucky says, and he hears Steve laugh. 

He slides the eggs from the pan onto a plate and walks them over to the kitchen table.

“Here, you ingrate.” Bucky says, setting the plate down in front of Steve’s paper and sitting down across from him.

“That hurts, Bucky. You know I’m always grateful for your shitty cooking.” Steve says with a wry grin, and Bucky rolls his eyes again.

“Asshole.” Bucky mutters, grinning down toward the table as he grabs his fork. 

“That’s me.” Steve says, leaning across the table to kiss him. 

“I hate you guys.” Sam says grumpily, walking blearily into the kitchen from his bedroom. 

“Good morning to you too.” Bucky says, gesturing to the third plate of eggs on the counter. 

“Don’t act like this is a nice gesture. I deserve these eggs. Being in the same space with you two is that damn taxing.” Sam says, pulling up the third chair at the table and sitting down.

“That’s hurtful, Sam.” Bucky says, grinning around a mouthful of food. 

“Stop grinning at me. I know you got laid last night, you don’t need to rub it in. We got thin walls, Steve, do you know how thin our walls are?” Sam asks, glaring up at Steve, and Steve chokes on his eggs, going pink and not looking Sam in the eye.

“You sound bitter.” Bucky says, putting on a concerned voice. Steve laughs at him.

“Man, shut up.” Sam says, taking a bite of his eggs. “Can’t believe I agreed to put up with this.”

“Oh, agreed? Was there a meeting on whether or not to keep me?” Bucky asks both of them, amused. Sam looks at Steve with an eyebrow raised, and Steve looks embarrassed.

“I’m not touching this one.” Sam says, rolling his eyes before going back to his eggs.

Bucky looks at Steve expectantly. He’s blushing again.

“Uh, no. More like there was a meeting on -- oh god, don’t make fun of me -- um, you moving in?” Steve says nervously, his face red. “You know. In the future. If you wanted. We haven’t -- I mean --”

Steve cuts himself off with a deep breath and glares at Sam, who’s laughing hysterically under his breath.

“No, keep going. This is great.” Sam says, wiping at his eyes. 

“Go _away_.” Steve tells him, the intimidation factor of his best glare slightly brought down by how red his cheeks still are.

Sam raises his hands in innocence before shrugging, grabbing his plate, and going to eat breakfast on the couch.

Steve finally looks over at Bucky, looking sheepish.

“You got big plans, huh, Rogers?” Bucky asks, corner of his mouth upturned. “Three and a half months and you’re asking me to move in.”

“I’m not. ” Steve says defensively. “Just, you know, Sam has the right to --”

“You got our wedding planned?” Bucky asks, cutting him off, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Shut up.” Steve says.

“Baby names?” Bucky asks.

“You know, I asked you very nicely not to make fun of me.” Steve says, opening his paper back up.

“And I’m ignoring that, because this is really fun.” Bucky says back, 

“Insufferable.” Steve mutters from behind his newspaper. 

“But you _love_ me, Steve. You want me to _live_ with you.” Bucky says, smirking.

“Not anymore, I don’t.” Steve grumbles, and Bucky cackles. 

Later, when Steve’s washing the dishes that Bucky dirtied, he walks up behind him and places his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Hi.” Steve says, scrubbing a pan. 

“Hi.” Bucky says back, turning to kiss his cheek.

“I didn’t just assume you’d come here, you know. I thought about Brooklyn too.” Steve says quietly. 

Bucky grins. “Yeah?” 

Steve nods. 

“Makes more sense for me to come here. You work uptown, my rent would be less split three  
ways here than it is for just me in Brooklyn.” Bucky reasons, and Steve doesn’t say anything, rinsing the pan and setting it down to dry. 

“You’ve lived there your whole life.” Steve says, wiping his hands with a towel and turning around to face Bucky.

“Yeah. Maybe it’s time for a change.” Bucky says, shrugging. 

“You never wanted to live here before.” Steve says. 

It’s true. Steve had offered, months when Bucky’s rent was tight, or sometimes months when it wasn’t and neither of them wanted to admit they missed each other. Told him about rent-controlled places nearby, offered to let him stay on their couch, but Bucky always refused

“Yeah, well.” Bucky says. He shrugs, hopes Steve will let it slide. It’s futile, he knows, and it’s confirmed when Steve is still looking at him expectantly.

“This is dumb, but. Never felt like I belonged here. Always felt like it was yours.” Bucky says, shrugging again.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “The entire island of Manhattan?” 

“I know it’s dumb. Just, I don’t know. This was your place and I had mine and it was easier that way.” Bucky says. 

Steve’s looking at him funny and Bucky can’t decipher it.

“You’re right, that’s dumb.” Steve says, and Bucky smiles. “And very dramatic. Very Gatsby-esque.” 

“Please don’t reference books I was supposed to read in high school.” Bucky says, and Steve grins, leans up to kiss him. 

“Anyway, it won’t matter for a while, right?” Steve asks him, going back to the matter at hand.

“Right. Neither of us are going anywhere anytime soon.” Bucky agrees.

++

A month later, Bucky’s unpacking boxes into Steve’s apartment.

They’re bickering over where Bucky’s record collection (which Steve keeps calling try-hard and dumb; Bucky feels like he could say the same about Steve’s moleskines that he knows are all empty), and Bucky is very glad he’s here.

++

They don’t ever drive to the Grand Canyon, but in June they end up in Brooklyn Bridge Park at the same time as an astronomy group is holding some event, and they look through telescopes and really, really see the stars for the first time.

And Bucky is struck by the awe-inspiring largeness of the world and of everything, and the slim, slim odds that he would ever be here right now with the boy looking in hushed silence through a telescope, how everything they are is built on a series of coincidences and off-chances. 

He grins real wide and kisses Steve underneath the stars they can’t see without a telescope and thinks about how everything is scary and weird and so, so great sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> in case you're wondering, the ugly holiday sweaters used as inspiration can be seen [here](http://theuglysweatershop.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Clumsy-Skiing-Snowmen-Ugly-Christmas-Sweater-Vest.jpg) and [here](http://jaymccarroll.files.wordpress.com/2012/12/ugly-sweater.jpg).
> 
> for some snippets about this fic/universe that didn't make it, or to pester me for details on anything (please know i welcome your pestering with open arms), i have a shiny new blog i'm using only for fic stuff [right over here](http://www.trashbaginthewind.tumblr.com). 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!


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